March of the Inevitable: A War in Winter
by SpartAl412
Summary: The Forces of Chaos are on the march once more as the Storm draws ever closer. Heroes and Champions among the Forces of Order are chosen to play their role and among them are two warriors from the realms of Men. As the battle-lines are drawn and pieces moved into place, the two must rally a divided people against another evil which threatens to bring only death and ruin to Thedas.
1. Chapter 1

**Foreword:**

**As of November 2014, I set up a poll regarding which Warhammer group I should do a crossover about and it ended with a tie between The Empire and The Bretonnians. So here it is, a tale which will involve two heroes from both major human nations of Warhammer Fantasy.**

* * *

A chill wind blew across the eaves of the Drakwald and the mournful howls of wolves echoed in the distance as the Chaos Moon of Morrslieb hung high in the night sky. Within the depths of a natural cave, a low orange glow could be seen as a fire raged. Upon the walls of the cave's interior, there were ancient and crude paintings depicting men, wolves and bloody hands.

This was a holy place, dedicated to a god whose faithful taught that Men should be strong and capable of taking care of themselves. It was a place consecrated in the name of Ulric, God of Winter, Wolves and Battle. Within the cave, seated by the raging fire was a single figure, a Warrior Priest of the Wolf God who whispered a series of mantras and prayers to his deity.

Clad in an old, simply designed but well maintained suit of full plate armour, the Warrior Priest's wore a fur cloak made from the pelt of a grey wolf, the skull of the same beast formed into a mask which concealed the face of the holy man. A mighty war hammer lay next to the priest, a light mist of cold air rose from the weapon as the head of it was surrounded by a cold mist. In the hands of the Warrior Priest, he held a small cloth pouch which contained a powdered mixture of herbs and various substances which he poured onto one hand before casting it into flames which suddenly flared more brightly.

The fires soon began to shift in colour, from its natural orange light, it became white as snow and the heat it had once generated became waves of cold. The Warrior Priest's eyes rolled up no longer looked upon the world of flesh and material but rather upon the world of the spirit as he was lost in the throes of a vision once more. He knew that the Storm was drawing closer, a great tempest from the dark north which would engulf the world in destruction and ruin.

The slaves of the Dark Gods were on the march yet again, but this time there was something different about it. In his vision, the Warrior Priest did not see the cold lands of Kislev or his homeland of the Empire, but rather, he saw a place not quite known to him. The vision showed him a strange, foreign land of sand and stone where ancient towers of iron stood, it was not the desolate realm of the Land of the Dead, rather it was where life still flourished.

The vision then changed, he saw an ever-shifting landscape of madness and nightmares where the children of the Ruinous Powers resided. Amid this place of horrors, there floated a city of shifting architecture with designs which should simply be impossible to exist and yet it did in that realm where the natural laws of the material universe held no meaning. The City had a name which even the Warrior Priest dared not to speak of for even one such as he had right cause to fear it.

The City drifted across the endless void where the daemons resided and soon it came to a stop near another City of sheer blackness. The two cities floated near one another and the Warrior Priest remained uncertain of what he saw but in his heart, he knew that there was something important about this second city of darkness. The vision then began to fade from his mind's eye as his spirit was tugged back into its mortal coil and in that last failing moment he saw one last thing.

He saw a woman, a pretty young lady with hair of raven black and yellow eyes that gleamed with a wicked intellect. Dressed in barbaric garments which revealed too much flesh to be modest but what truly drew the attention of the Warrior Priest was that which lay within her. He saw life, stirring within the woman's womb, one filled with a power which even he could feel and the shadow she cast was not one of a human being, but that of a wyrm.

This woman and the life which grew or will grow was somehow important to the designs of the Ruinous Powers and the Warrior Priest knew that the Dark Gods could not succeed in whatever they sought. The return to his mortal form left the Warrior Priest momentarily disoriented as it always did but he simply shrugged off the effects with a mere shake of his head. Still having many questions about what he had seen, the holy man who was named Albrecht Krieger reached for the handle of his blessed war hammer.

Feeling the comforting weight of his weapon as he placed the shaft upon his lap, the former Knight of the White Wolf knew of a place which could answer the meanings of his vision.

* * *

'Onwards men! Onwards!' roared Lothaire du Gisoreux as he plunged his lance into the chest of a Gor and continued to shout 'For the Lady! For the King! For the Duke! For Bretonnia!' Foul ichor spattered the Knight's armour as he felt the tip of his weapon explode from the back of the beastman he had impaled before skewering another of the poor bastards. His mighty steed crushed another of the beastmen as the charge of his fellow Knights trampled all that stood in their way.

Lothaire's heart sang with a feral joy for this was what it meant to be a Knight of Bretonnia! To oppose the might of Chaos, the greatest of all evils, to stare down the unholy abominations of the Dark Gods and stab them in the face! The fields of war was the crucible of a Knight's existence, it was here where honour and glory could be claimed in the name of the Lady.

His plate armour was masterfully crafted with the edges of each section of the set being well detailed with gilded rose vines. The Fleur-de-lys insignia of the Lady was proudly borne upon both of his pauldrons, knee plates and the front section of his Armet helmet covering his forehead. What was most striking about his equipment was the pair of ornate white ivory antlers which rose up from the top of his helmet as a magnificent cloak and tabard of red and black with the hart symbol of his home dukedom was emblazoned upon both pieces of cloth.

More Beastmen were trampled under the charge of the Bretonnians, their screams of terror and pain were music to Lothaire's ears. It mattered little that the cursed Chaos Moon glared balefully down at them, in fact, Lothaire hoped that the eyes of the Dark Gods were upon them just so that the Ruinous Powers could see their minions die in droves against the tide of righteous fury. The ground underneath them began to rise up in inclination and Lothaire knew that they would soon be ascending the hillside.

It was rather unusual though that the beastmen were gathering up here near the Iranna Mountains at this time of the year when normally they should be fighting greenskins, something was drawing the creatures here and he did not know why. Again, It mattered little to Lothaire for a monster was a monster, whether it was some dumb brutish orc, a freakish hybrid of man and beast or a walking corpse that needed to be kicked back into Morr's realms and for men like him, problems with such creatures were easily solved with the pointy end of a lance or sword. Speaking of which as his steed began have some difficulty climbing up the rocky terrain, the Bretonnian Paladin called for his Knights of the Realm to slow their advance.

Horns were soon being sounded as the Knights reluctantly slowed their steeds and soon each of the armoured warriors dismounted for the terrain would be unfavorable for the horses. Looking back to see the carnage his Knights had caused while the Men at Arms followed after them, Lothaire smiled underneath the plates of his bloodied helmet for a warrior of the Fay had once told him that each dead servant of Chaos would be a dagger in the Dark Gods. Dismounting his armoured steed, Lothaire left his lance in the side of his horse's saddle and he unsheathed his favorite weapon, a Heavy Flanged Mace of such size that it would require both hands to use.

He always liked the feel of crushing bones, shattering skulls and reducing the brains of his foes to jelly. As he gripped the haft of his weapon he felt a comforting sense of warmth from the weapon as the blessing placed upon it caused the head of the mace to generate a soft, cyan glow. Looking up to the mountains where he could see the campfires of the beastmen army, Lothaire gently stretched his neck left and right while hearing the gentle cracks from where the spine connected to the skull.

He was going to go up there with his brothers in arms and he was going to beat those overgrown, mutated goats so hard that even the Dark Gods would feel it. Further grinning underneath his helmet as he felt a sense of feral anticipation for the coming battle, Lothaire ordered his fellow Knights to advance.

'Come on men!' shouted Lothaire with the same sort of enthusiasm which he would also show before feasts and holidays 'Ten _Ecu_ to the man that kills the Beastlord!' And with that, the men around Lothaire could not help but share his enthusiasm as well.

* * *

The journey through the forest was always one which filled Albrecht Krieger with a sense of wariness for the woods of the Drakwald was the haunt of Beastmen, Greenskins Giant Spiders, Mutants and Bandits. His breath misted in the cold air as he held up a lantern in hand to light his way while in the other hand, he carried his war hammer. The vision Albrecht had seen filled him with many questions as the image of the raven haired woman with the shadow of a dragon was etched into his memory.

The animal sounds of the forest surrounded him and thankfully, he had neither heard nor smelled any trace of beastmen or the greenskins. His travel would soon prove uneventful until he finally arrived at his destination. Unlike the cave which was something of a shrine for the ancient and mortal followers of Ulric, this place he went to was entirely something else.

Standing amidst a lonely glade was a series of ancient, moss covered menhirs which were positioned in a perfect circle, each one depicted men and wolves battling against beastmen. At the center of the circle was a stone cauldron which was filled with water blessed by the ancient priests of the Old Faith. Many times had Albrecht Krieger been to this place and each time, it appeared in different places across Middenland.

Certain rites and rituals were needed to be preformed first before Albrecht could make use of the shimmering water within the Stone Cauldron and Warrior Priest quickly began as soon as possible. Intoning the name of his patron god, Ulric, Albrecht then began to whisper prayers to other deities such as Taal, Rhya and Morr. Ripples began to appear within the waters of the Cauldron and Albrecht knew that his prayers were heard.

Setting his lantern down and propping his hammer by the Cauldron, he then began to remove his wolf skull mask and he pulled down the part of the fur pelt which covered his head. Ancient, wizened and scarred features were revealed for Albrecht Krieger was a man who had lived for almost six decades. A single good eye which was green in colour was looking at the reflection of himself while the other eye was a milky white orb, his beard had grown longer and even more unkempt as the graying hair upon his chin and scalp were now mostly white with age.

Taking a deep breath while steeling himself for what was to come next, Albrecht then leaned forward and dunked his head into the cauldron. Daggers of cold pierced into the nerves of his face as the Warrior Priest was forced to maintain his consciousness while focusing on his last image of the woman. Soon he began to feel the tug of the spirit world again and with it, he left his mortal coil to see what it was the gods had meant for him to see.

He saw a city, a rather mundane and normal looking place clearly built by the hands of Men. Its architecture was unknown to Albrecht Krieger for it did not bear any designs he was familiar with. The vision then shifted and he saw a mighty wyrm with blood red scales and flames of deep purple which flew over the city while an army of darkness and corruption laid siege to the city.

At first, he had believed the wyrm to be one of the Encarmine Dragons which haunted the places of old death but he was quick note the corruption that lay within the beast. The creatures which swarmed the city were somewhat akin to the Damned of Chaos; each was a horrible parody of mortal beings and filled with nothing but the desire to bring slaughter and bloodshed. The city was doomed, thought Albrecht Krieger for in the many wars he had fought, he had learned how to tell the flow of a battle, until he heard a loud screech in the winds.

To horizon, away from the city, three griffons with feathers of grey flew over a mighty army which sought to vanquish the corrupted creatures. Drawn from many lands and different races, they each stood as united as the armies of the Empire did during the Great War when Men, Dwarfs and Elves fought against the Hordes of Asavar Kul in Kislev. Among the army, he saw that raven haired woman again.

The Griffons and the army charged headlong into the besieging force with a mighty crash of flesh and steel. Acts of heroism and valor were played out as among them there also stood out, a company of men and women, each marked for greatness. He saw a bronze skinned giant of a man cleaving swarms of the corrupted things alongside a red bearded dwarf who was as fearsome as a Daemon Slayer, a swarthy elf whose movements were difficult to follow and another woman who wielded a bow while singing a song in a tongue which sounded similar to Breton.

There were others in their company as well; other heroes of whom Albrecht Krieger knew had a part to play in this. The vision then began to become less clear as his lungs burned with the demand for precious air. Quickly returning to his physical form once more, the Warrior Priest suddenly rose up from the cauldron with a deep gasp of air.

Filling his lungs with the cold night air, Albrecht felt ill at ease for his vision answered none of his questions. What was he meant to see? He thought, what was this foreign place and the army which attacked it? As ever, such mysteries remained unclear to the Warrior Priest who placed his skull mask back on and he retrieved his hammer and lantern.

As he turned around, he noticed something unsettling and off about his surroundings. Glancing left and right, he saw that nothing was out of the ordinary and yet his instincts told him otherwise. Having learned long ago to be mindful of what he could not see, he set his lantern down again and pulled out a horn from the side of his belt.

Ancient sigils and prayers dedicated to Ulric were inscribed into the horn and the Warrior Priest placed his lips upon the bottom of it and he let out a loud note which almost sounded like the howl of a wolf. Nothing happened at first but after a few seconds, the temperature around him drastically dropped as the night clouds further darkened above him and snow began to fall from the sky. The snow that fell began to increase in quantity until it practically became a blizzard which began to cover the glade in a bed of snow.

Throughout this time, Albrecht Krieger kept a watchful eye on his surroundings until he saw movement among the trees around him. He saw that the trees themselves moved with each one taking an almost humanoid shape. Dryads he realized as he gripped his hammer with both hands and the cold mist which surrounded his hammer became a thick coating of ice.

* * *

Stomping his booted foot down upon the skull of a beastman, Lothaire felt the satisfying snap of the creature's spine as he swung his heavy mace into the chest of another and pulverizing the thing's ribcage and guts. The Knight began to hum a rather bawdy but catchy song he had once heard from Peasant Men at Arms sing at a tavern as he crushed the skulls of more beastmen. Blocking the thrust of a Bestigor's glaive by bringing up the haft of his mace, Lothaire swiftly followed up with a knee kick to the beastman's exposed stomach and the creature bent over as the breath was knocked out of its lungs.

The Paladin then swiftly brought his mace down in a murderous overhead arc which crumpled the thing's skull and the crude helmet that protected it. The mystic light which emanated from his mace shined as bright as the beacon of a lighthouse, he could feel the loathing of his weapon towards such unclean creatures and its desire to purge them from the land. He sometimes wondered if perhaps the magic within his mace may sometimes affect his mind for he had heard stories of such dire weapons existing, he supposed that as long as it made him feel a bit bloodthirsty only towards monsters and Chaos-worshipers, he would be happy enough to oblige it.

Lothaire's fellow knights must have been a glorious sight to behold as each man fought with courage and valor. He saw a trio of his comrades fighting back to back in a triangular formation with swords and shields as each man protected the other's back and flank while lashing out with precise stabs and slashes. Another group of Knights had formed a shield wall which the beastmen battered against while two more groups flanked the beasts from the sides.

Surveying the foe to see if their leader was about, Lothaire saw one particularly large and shaggy looking Beastman who was holding back while protecting a wizened looking creature. Quickly he deduced that the former was leader for he noted how much better armed it was and much to his disdain, he noted that the latter was a shaman of sorts. The two leaders were standing close to a pillar of white stone which he recognized as of being one of the Waystones used by the Fay.

'There is their leader men!' roared the boisterous Paladin as he pointed towards the enemy chieftain who spotted Lothaire and it hefted a mighty axe which looked like it may have once belonged to an orc.

The Chieftain bellowed a roar of challenge and the Paladin noted the way the shaman looked to their leader and it laid a clawed hand on the chieftain's arm while speaking in their debased tongue. Judging from his own experience, it seemed that Lothaire and his men had interrupted something which the beastmen had been in the middle of, probably some nefarious ritual of black magic. Can't be having none of that now, thought Paladin as he mimicked the Chieftain's movement and pointed his mace at it.

The shaman tugged at the Chieftain's arm again and the leader quickly delivered a powerful backhanded slap to the shaman, knocking the withered thing to the ground and it bellowed again while roaring a praise to the Blood God, Khorne. If that overgrown goat wanted to offer his skull to its foul god then it would have to work for it, thought Lothaire as the Bestigors parted before their leader. The Knights of the Realm understood the challenge that was issued and each man stepped aside to watch this moment of glorious, single combat.

Striding forward to meet this foe, Lothaire then planted the head of his bloodied mace to the ground and he knelt while offering a prayer to the Lady of the Lake. The Chieftain stood its ground as it allowed Lothaire to make his prayers and in turn, it shouted foul blasphemies to the sky in honour of the Blood god once more. Rising up to his feet as soon as his prayer was finished, Lothaire felt a comforting sensation within his soul as if the Lady had imparted a small blessing upon him.

Studying his opponent for a moment, Lothaire could see that despite the gloom, his foe was quite fearsome looking indeed. Clad in armour which also looked like it may have once belonged to a Knight, glowing dark crimson runes were etched upon the blade of its axe. It looked like he would be facing a an enemy with an ensorcelled weapon thought the Paladin with a bit of eagerness for the greater the foe, the greater amount of glory would be attained.

Its fur was of a dark colour, black or perhaps a deep red he thought as eyes filled with hell-fire looked at him with hate and rage. The Chieftain was probably as tall as a Kurgan with a physique which would match one of the barbarians from the Wastes and what was also notable was the impressive set of horns it had. What started as two blackened trunks of bone-like material rose and spread out as magnificently as that of a hart's, a fine trophy its horns would make thought Lothaire, he would probably have to aim low then.

The Chieftain scraped its right hoof upon the soil and it let loose another loud roar before charging at the paladin with the strength and speed of a bull. Roaring a war cry of his own, Lothaire sprinted towards his foe with one his mace held in one hand. The Chieftain then brought its axe up for an overhead chop and the Paladin saw the dark runes upon his foe's weapon glow even brighter as if it were anticipating the kill.

Lothaire then thrust his mace forward, he loosened his grip a little to allow the handle to slide between his armoured fingers and was rewarded with the satisfying impact as the head of the mace connected with a loud crash against the armour of the Chieftain. His foe staggered back from the unexpected strike, a trick Lothaire had picked up from a great warrior he recently had made the acquaintance of. Pulling the mace back and quickly stepping to the side while shifting his grip so that both of his hands could hold on to the weapon, he heard the Chieftain take deep gasps of air and the Paladin was quick to take advantage of this.

Swinging his mace low and aiming for the knees of the Chieftain, he struck the mutant on the side of its left knee cap and he heard the loud snap of bone as the creature shrieked in pain and agony. The brutish hybrid toppled to its side and as it fell, Lothaire quickly brought his mace crashing down upon its spine before it even hit the ground. Again, he heard the loud snap of bone as he shattered the thing's spinal cord and he thought with disappointment that it had been a bit too easy.

With a shrug, he then turned his gaze upon the shaman who had an almost stunned looked upon its goat face. The creature then pointed a clawed finger at him while holding up a crude wooden staff which was adorned with pieces of bone and small dark green stones he recognized to be wyrdstone. The air around them suddenly began to become much colder as the shaman enacted a foul spell and Lothaire was forced to sprint towards the beastman spell-caster.

Roaring the name of Bretonnia while bringing his mace up again in and preparing to unleash a horizontal swing which would crush the shaman's skull he suddenly then heard a rattling sound akin to the metal links of chains. Lothaire then began to feel something wrap tightly against his limbs as he was about to smash the shaman and he looked back to see a gaping maw of azure light dragging him closer to it. He saw his fellow knights quickly move to help them but one loud bleat from the shaman came and the Bestigors which had been watching the duel were swift to charge into the ranks of Bretonnian Knights.

Lothaire struggled with all of his might as he shouted curses and insults at the foul shaman. More and more chain links began to lash out from the glowing maw with each one latching on to him while further restricting his own movements. The mad shaman capered and danced with a maddened energy and Lothaire began to hear a horrible series of whispers into his ears.

Not like this! Desperately thought the Paladin as he continued to struggle against the chains for the first in a very long time, he began to feel a sense of terror creep into his heart. The last thing which Lothaire saw before being thrown into the Realm of Chaos was the Waystone pillar glowing ever brighter and he heard the cackling shaman's voice turn into a shriek of anguish as a singularly loud bestial roar echoed from behind the foe.

* * *

The Dryads kept their distance from Albrecht Krieger as he carefully watched them while adopting a defensive stance. Although such creatures were very rare to find outside of the haunted forest known as Athel Loren, the Warrior Priest had faced the things before, back when he was still a Knight of the White Wolf. Why they were here was a mystery to him but one which would have to be answered later for the Dryads were dangerous and malevolent things.

He saw one creatures shift its form and adopt the image of a comely elf maiden whose beauty almost made Albrecht wish to lower his guard, almost. Gritting his teeth and steeling his mind from its insidious charm, he quickly broke its beguiling power in same way as he would with the daemonic handmaidens of Slaanesh. Albrecht loudly howled like the wolves of the forest, an ancient war cry used by the faithful of Ulric and he felt the strength of his god imbue him with a measure of more power.

The Dryads angrily hissed and shifted back to their hideous forms as they charged the Warrior Priest with arms which ended in sharpened claws. One of the Dryads swung its right arm in a backhanded sweep which would have snapped the neck of Albrecht had it connected but he managed to step back in time to allow the wooden limb to pass over his masked face and he swung his hammer upwards. The Dryad shrieked in pain as he felt the impact of his weapon connect with its arm, wood and sap from the creature exploded in a shower of frozen splinters.

The hammer which had faithfully served Albrecht Krieger for so many decades was blessed by the Wolf God in his aspect of Winter. Each time the Warrior Priest struck an opponent, their bodies would be wracked with agony as the imbuement upon the weapon would cause wounds to freeze and blacken with frostbite. Sometimes though, when a strike is particularly mighty indeed, the hammer's power would instantly freeze a target before the very impact of his weapon would cause the foe to shatter like glass.

Ducking under the strike of another and smashing the trunk-like legs of one of his attackers, Albrecht was thankful for the divine magic within the Horn for creatures such as the Dryads were greatly slowed by winter's chill. Despite his advanced years, Albrecht proved to still be quite fast and strong as he smashed the chest of a Dryad and shattered the head of another with an overhead slam. The creatures of course fought back with both savagery and ferocity but their movements slowed even further as the cold wind grew stronger.

'Enough!' roared deep, booming voice which shook the trees and the earth, causing Albrecht to stumble for a moment before recovering and taking a step back. He saw the Dryads look behind them for a long moment before they cast their gazes back to him, he could see the hate in the eyes of the creatures and their desire to rend him limb from limb. The Warrior Priest gave them a challenging look for he had no fear of them, the Dryads reluctantly began to back away and Albrecht realized that there was a cold mist which partly obscured his vision.

From the mist he saw two figures slowly draw closer to him with both making not a single sound with each step. Albrecht Krieger narrowed his eyes as he soon came face to face with a pair of tall, slender and pale skinned beings he knew well enough were elves. One was clearly a male with cloud white hair and eyes of green while the other was a female with eyes that were also of a similar colour but hair of midnight black.

Both of the elves were garbed in garments of dark brown and green with each one carrying a wooden staff which was topped with a jewel like that of an emerald. The female elf looked to Albrecht with a cold, disdainful expression as if he were nothing more than a particularly loathsome vermin while the male elf looked to him with a more neutral one. The elf woman then muttered something in a song-like tongue which Albrecht could detect the spiteful tone within while the other elf said something to her before casting his gaze towards Albrecht.

'Lower your weapon, human for we wish only to speak' said the male elf in a thickly accented but understandable Reikspiel and Albrecht only lowered his hammer by a slight inch.

'We are not your enemies, _Kegh-mon_!' spat the female elf with disdain as she spoke every word.

'Then why do you bring these… creatures here into the _Drakwald_' replied the Warrior Priest as glanced towards the Dryads who still eyed him with murderous intent.

'They are here for our protection from the Great Enemy, human' spoke the male elf in a cold yet calm manner. At closer look Albrecht realized, they had a somewhat similar look and he guessed that both elves were siblings.

'And it is quite obvious that we should have brought more had we expected your savage barbarism' added the female elf whose attitude was beginning to grate on Albrecht's nerves as he tightened the grip on his hammer.

'Savage barbarism?' asked the Warrior Priest with barely concealed hostility for if he had his Wolf-Kin with him, he would order them to rush these elves and he would break their hands and teeth for such impudence. 'I am not the one whose people launch massacres into Bretonnia every spring!' countered Alberecht as he took a step forwards with his hands tightly gripped around his hammer and the Dryads themselves hissed in anger.

'I said enough!' roared the male elf in a commanding tone as he slammed the bottom of his staff to the ground which caused a slight tremor of the earth and he then gave a hard look to his companion who responded with a defiant look of her own while remaining silent. The male elf then returned his attention to Albrecht and continued 'there is no need for us to be enemies on this day for we have come bearing a message'

'And what would this message be then, elf?' questioned Albrecht rather suspiciously for he had no particular fondness for most elves of whom he found to be overly arrogant, imperious and having a rather condescending, smug sense of superiority when dealing with Men. There were perhaps a few he had respect for, but most of his dealing with the Elder Race were alliances of convenience against the beastmen or battles against murderous corsairs.

'The Storm is coming' replied the elf in a foreboding manner 'the Dark Gods prepare their inevitable march and their armies seek to sweep across the world'.Have these elves also seen what he had seen? Thought Albrecht Krieger with surprise. Had they seen the strange land besieged by darkness, the black city, the red dragon and the raven haired woman? Albrecht's silence must have been telling for he saw a look of recognition in the elf's eyes as he then continued 'the Dark Gods will prove victorious if we do not act'.

'Why tell me then?' asked Albrecht for such information should go to someone like Graff Toddbringer or to Emperor Karl Franz himself.

'Because you are marked, Albrecht Krieger' said the elf whose use of his name further surprised the Warrior Priest 'the gods have placed their mark on you, just as they have with so many others.'

'Come with us human' spoke the female elf 'for if we are to deny Chaos its victory in the coming war, then we will need to gather as many of us as we can'

'What do mean "us"?' questioned the Warrior Priest for he still had his duties within Middenland.

'Just as Vaul forged the Ninety-Nine Blades for the War in Heaven, the Gods will forge Ninety-Nine Champions' was the rather cryptic reply of the male elf which further confused Albrecht.

'Just come with us human and we will explain on the way!' hissed the female elf in a more urgent manner.

As Albrecht was about to argue again, he noticed that out from the mist from which the elves had stepped out, a grey furred wolf with one eye which was icy blue and the other which was dark yellow. The Grey Wolf quietly walked up between the elves and it simply sat there like an obedient domesticated hound waiting for its master. Sighing with resignation for he knew what the appearance of the Grey Wolf meant, Albrecht lowered his weapon and he walked towards the waiting elves.

As the grey mist began to close in around them and Albrecht thought he could hear the voices of both men and women speaking in a variety of different languages as well as Reikspiel. He glanced about to see who else was in the mist and he saw a warrior dressed in the armour of Kislev's Gryphon Legion. Calling to the Gryphon Legionnaire, he received no reaction from the warrior and at the corner of his eye, he noted more figures.

Albrecht looked around him and see men, dwarfs, elves and even a halfling who each were concealed by the mist. Looking back to the Legionnaire, he saw that the warrior was gone and as he heard the voice of a woman speaking somewhat fearfully in Estalian from behind him. Looking back, he saw a woman dressed in the armour of a Myrmidian Sister of Fury who looked about with confusion. As Albrecht tried to catch her attention the mists surrounded the Estalian and she disappeared from his sight.

What sorcery was this he thought and suddenly he began to feel that dreadfully familiar sensation which was followed by a sickly sweet stench. '_Dum_!' shouted the deep voice of a dwarf and Albrecht Krieger heard the loud roars and screeches as several Daemons broke through the mists. Red Skinned Bloodletters wielding swords which burned with hell-fire strode alongside the diseased cyclopean minions of the Plague God while the lithe handmaidens of Slaanesh cavorted alongside the cackling Horrors of Tzeentch.

A gods-damned trap, thought Albrecht as he lifted his war hammer and was ready to face the Daemons. 'Ulric!' roared the Warrior Priest as he charged headlong into the daemons and he saw that many of the others within the mist did the same. The Daemons were suddenly then engulfed by white flames which reduced them to ashes and a new voice called out them.

Wreathed in a brilliant, shining light, Albrecht saw another elf whose garbs mirrored those of the High Elves of Ulthuan. The newcomer shouted with a voice imbued by sorcery and something began to compel Albrecht to follow the this elf, despite absolutely having no idea on what he was saying. The shining elf then pointed to something near him, a glimmering disc of light leading to some unknown place.

The High Elf then spoke again and Albrecht found that his body rebelled against his will. He found himself to be running towards the glimmering disc, he looked towards the shining elf and for a moment he was able to catch a glimpse of him. Unlike other elves he had seen, this one looked ancient and decrepit with a receding hairline, translucent skin and skeletal features.

Albrecht saw as the others who were in the mists ran straight into the shimmering disc, seemingly against their will as well. As he ran, he heard the shouts of rage from the Chaos Daemons before an intense heat and the force of an explosion like that of a black powder bomb going off. Such was the force of the explosion that Albrecht Krieger was knocked off of his feet and all he began to feel was the chill which seeped into his very soul as darkness clouded his vision.

* * *

Looking up to the clear, starry sky Nicolas d'Val Royeaux watched with great interest as he took down notes regarding the constellations and the movements of the heavens above. For years now, he had studied astronomy within The University of Orlais and things seemed to be going well for him so far. As he continued to record his observations, he noticed an unusual object in the sky and he quickly placed his right eye upon the section of his telescope which would allow him to catch a closer look.

What he saw was perhaps the most extraordinary sight he had ever seen. It was a comet to be sure, one which was moving rather slowly in the heavens but what was most distinguishing about its appearance was that it ended with two burning tails. How unusual he thought with curiosity and he resolved to take further note of this stupendous sighting.

* * *

**Author's Note: If you wish to know more about the character, Albrecht Krieger, you can read my previous stories, Knight of Khaine: The White Hunter &amp; Howl of Winter. The character Lothaire on the other hand I originally intended to introduce him as a major supporting character in a future story-arc of my non-crossover stories when the main cast's adventures take them from the Empire and into Bretonnia.**


	2. Chapter 2

A cold wind blew into the cave as a band of men and women were huddled around a great fire. Thick fur cloaks taken from the hides of bears, wolves and other beasts were wrapped around their bodies, providing them a measure of warmth against the cold while each of them also wore suits of rough hide leather armor. The eyes of the people within the cave were focused upon the multiple pieces of cooking bear meat which were skewered upon sticks held close to the flames.

It had been a successful hunt thought Roanoke as he patiently watched two particularly large cuts of bear meat cook over the fire. His grey eyes reflected the flames in front of him as he ran a calloused hand over his short cropped beard which had once been of a dark brown color in his youth but now had many grey strands. Like the rest of his fellow hunters, Roanoke was also covered in thick furs while a bow and a woodcutting axe rested close to him.

The bears they had tracked were not only fat and plump but so were their cubs whose meat and hides would also help keep them fed and warm as well as the rest of their clan. As the meat continued to cook, he then looked to his daughter, Alfhild who was also watching their next meal with hungry eyes. Alfhild's hands were outstretched, hovering close to the flames which gave off its life-giving warmth.

Roanoke felt proud of his daughter for despite being only fourteen winters, it was her arrow which struck the killing blow on the bear patriarch while its mate took several more arrows before being put down. He was thankful to the gods that no one in their party was hurt and more so that they had found a place to take shelter for the snow outside became a freezing blizzard. It was strange though that the weather would become just like that, especially during this time of the season. Some of the other believed that it was not a good omen while Roanoke himself thought that it was nothing more than mere superstition.

His stomach growled a bit loudly and he looked to Alfhild who gave him an amused smile. How much she looked like her mother he thought a bit sadly with her pale skin, bright reddish red hair and green eyes. A sudden startled look came over his daughter here as she then looked back towards the mouth of the cave where the howling winds could be heard.

'Did you feel that?' asked Alfhild and Roanoke shrugged for the only thing he was feeling now was the cold wind and the hunger inside his belly.

'I could have sworn that there was something… out there' she then said as she got up and began making her way to cave's entrance.

'Don't go too far now!' called Roanoke who trusted his daughter enough not to do anything foolish.

'Everyone! Come quick!' soon came the voice of Alfhild and the urgent tone of which she spoke caused many of his fellow hunters to rise up to their feet with alarm. A brief flush of parental concern coursed through Roanoke as he swiftly began making his way to the cave mouth with the partially cooked bear meat still in hand and he was relieved to still see his daughter in sight. He saw her pointing down at something and when he looked, his eyes widened as he noticed the grey fur pelt of wolf which was worn around a man clad in a suite of metal armor like that of a northern knight.

A fierce looking maul was clenched in the knight's gauntlet and Roanoke wondered how this man even got here for the land of Ferelden was many miles away to the north.

'Should we help him?' asked Alfhild as she looked to them and Roanoke heard his clansmen speak to one another, unsure before one look from his daughter caused them to make up their minds.

Roanoke and another hunter named Erling went towards the fallen warrior and they first tried to flip him over so that the man may lie upon his back. The heavy armor which the knight wore made him extra heavy but soon the two men were able to turn him aside him before dragging the unconscious man into the cave and near the cooking fire to be warmed.

* * *

Many fires burned in the dark distance, filling Arion with a sense of foreboding and perhaps even a bit of fear. Looking to his companions, he raised one hand and made a silent series of gestures which they all understood. Each member of his party were well skilled in the ways of stealth, sabotage and assassination but most importantly was that each of them were intimately familiar with the foes which they faced.

Keeping low under the cover of darkness, they moved along the snowy dunes, each of them wore leather armour with white cloaks to blend in with their surroundings while amulets, rings, belts or other pieces of equipment were imbued to provide protection against the harsh cold. Circling around the camp where enemy sentries stood guard, they already had a good sense of where there were gaps and weaknesses among the pickets. Bestial roars were mixed with the howling winds as the occasional, agonized scream of an unfortunate captive cried out.

Anger and loathing filled Arion as he placed his hands upon the pommels of his twin swords but was forced to keep his temper in check for their mission could not be compromised. Taking a deep breath of the frigid air which was mixed with the faint, foul smell of their foe, he was forced to calm himself, for now. A tingling sensation soon filled the back of his head as they drew closer to the camp and he saw a small group of sentries break away with torches held up.

Darkspawn was the name of these foul creatures who often resided deep below within the tunnels and mines of the dwarves. The fact that there were so many of the damned things on the surface led to one, troubling conclusion. There was a Blight coming and with it, a horde of Darkspawn that would leave a trail of ruin and destruction upon Thedas, something which Arion and the rest of his order, the Grey Wardens, could not allow.

While a small party of four would hardly be sufficient in stopping the entire horde, their skills made them perfect for at least slowing down and harrying the monsters long enough until the armies of Ferelden are rallied into a proper fighting force. He also hoped that his brothers and sisters from Orlais would arrive in time to do their job and he hoped that Duncan would be able to gather enough recruits for the coming war. Until then though, Arion and his party had their duties to complete, even if the chances of success were slim.

His group was composed of other humans such as himself, men and women drawn from all across Thedas for their skills and abilities. There was an assassin from Antiva named Cortez who had some affiliation with the Crows, then there was a Ranger named Anna from the Free Marches who was a good shot with a bow, and finally there was a Shadow named Garth who was a master of poisons, herbs and traps. Arion himself was a duelist from Kirkwall and he was quite good at giving his enemies a stand up fight when he needed to.

Their target was a Hurlock Commander who had been leading this rabble against the local wilder tribes with a surprisingly adept degree of cunning and tactical skill. Such a creature was one of many that could not be allowed to make it to northwards for if it did, the Hurlock leader would likely become part of a vanguard force that would pave the way for the rest of the horde.

As Arion was about to send orders to his part to move on, he heard a loud and deep voice bellowing a series of profanities in Orlesian and the Wardens looked to one another in puzzlement.

* * *

Feeling the crunch of bone as his mace slammed into the face of a squat monster that looked like a stunted orc and pulverizing its face. Lothaire then sent a back-handed swing from his gauntleted left hand which struck another of the foul things in its jaw and his armoured fist struck the hideous monster with a loud smack that sent it reeling back. Coldness seeped into his very bones and the frigid air was mixed with a corruption akin to unnatural presence of the Ruinous Powers.

'Back you foul, dirty fiends!' roared the Paladin as he swung his large mace one handed into the side of another monster's head and splattering it brains upon the snow.

He had absolutely no idea of where he was and how he had gotten here. All he remembered was the nightmarish journey through that hellish place where the daemons of Chaos resided and then he came into what looked like a library of impossible architecture. A vulture headed daemon had angrily shrilled and shouted at him and before he knew it, he was sent back into the shifting realm, only to end up in this frozen place where had quickly found himself to be surrounded by monsters that were as ugly as orcs.

The squat orc things backed away while making a series of grunting noises with many carrying wicked blades or axes and three he could see were taking aim with bows and crossbow. '_Merde'_ he hissed underneath his helmet as he readied himself for a sprint with the archers being his next target. Everything suddenly seemed to slow down around Lothaire as he took in every detail of his surroundings; he saw the hideous faces of his foes, the snow that fell from the sky and the embers of fire that lighted up the darkness.

With a deep inhale of the frigid air, the Paladin quickly broke into a sprint as arrows and bolts were fired at once. He felt the impact as an arrow scraped against the side of his breastplate and was suddenly jerked as another struck his right pauldron but worst of all was the sudden agony he felt as the tip of a crossbow bolt punctured his left cuisse and into the flesh of his thigh. Through sheer force of will, he remained on the sprint while fighting through the pain and he crushed the skull of another monster that came too close to him with twin axes.

His wrathful gaze then settled on the monster that had shot him and he felt his anger rise in vengeance. Roaring a wordless war cry, he rushed the archer with his mace held in both hands and he saw the creature attempt to reload its crossbow. Lothaire the swung his mace towards the archer's head with such force that he heard the loud snap of its vertebrae as the head was completely knocked to the side in an awkward and lethal angle.

Another pair of arrows slammed into his back but thankfully none pierced the armoured plates. Hearing the crunch of heavy footsteps upon the snow, the knight then turned around to see more of the things cautiously converging around him and in the distance, he saw several other monstrosities that were as tell as men. He had no idea exactly what he was fighting, but there was something about them that seemed unnaturally wrong and by his guess, he was probably fighting Chaos tainted mutants.

If these things thought that they had him cornered like a wounded skaven then it would be his obligation to show them the error of such thinking. Bringing his mace up again in a more aggressive stance, Lothaire continued to ignore the pain of his wound as he tightened the grip on his weapon and he looked upon his foes with as much as contempt as if he were fighting against mere greenskins.

* * *

'Is he going to be okay?' asked Alfhild with a bit of concern as she looked towards the unconscious stranger who lay close to the fire.

'I have found no wounds, so he should be fine' shrugged a woman named Nilsine who was knowledgeable in the lore of herbs and medicine. While inspecting the armored stranger for any injuries, the first thing she did was remove his wolf-skull mask and to the collective surprise of the hunters, they found their guest to be an elderly looking man with many scars across his face.

In his hands, Roanoke studied the wolf-skull mask which the stranger wore and by his guess, the old man was a shaman of sorts for he had noticed the charms made from wolf fangs, a horn that was etched with symbols and the pouches which contained dried powders. From what clan the old man hailed from though, Roanoke had no idea for the armor which the stranger was of a design the hunter had never seen. He also noticed that one of the charm which the old man carried was composed of a thin leather lace attached to two large fangs which came from a beast that was not known to him for it was too large and too thick to belong to a wolf or a bear, perhaps a boar he thought but no there was something off about them.

The maul which the old man carried was also quite unusual for it was not as heavy-looking or massive as most hammers Roanoke had seen. He had also noticed the coating of ice which covered the hammer's head and both the hunter and his party realized that it must be imbued with magic. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen a shaman who carried arms and armor aside from robes and a staff.

With a shrug, he decided to question the old man later, besides, it was unlikely anyway that they would be leaving the cave soon for the blizzard still raged on, and they had nothing else to do now aside from making their guest feel comfortable until he awakens. As the cold wind continued to howl outside of the cave, Roanoke noticed a rather foul stench akin to rotten meat begin to waft in. The other hunters noticed it as well for they had begun to pick up their bows and quivers.

Loud bestial voices were heard and all eyes were quickly turned towards the cavern entrance where several dark figures could be seen. Darkspawn, came the horrified realization of Roanoke for he had heard stories of the creatures being seen across the south but had dismissed them as wild tales. The Darkspawn gave a series of savage warcries that were filled with bloodlust as they began to rush into the cave with weapons raised.

The air between the hunters and the Darkspawn was soon filled with a volley of arrows that felled many of those at the front while the monsters at the back shoved their wounded forward or even used the bodies as shields. Drawing another arrow from his quiver, Roanoke sighted down on a tall, man-sized Darkspawn that was just as hideous as the others and he fired a shot that flew straight and true into its right eye. Quickly throwing down his bow and picking up his axe, Roanoke held it in both hands as if he were holding on to a great axe.

His fellow clansmen pulled off what last shots they could before switching to close combat weapons as well and charging into the incoming monsters. Fear gripped the heart of the hunter as he drew closer to the Darkspawn and it granted him a sense of desperation that gave way to both clarity and determination to survive. With an overhead chop, his axe which was often used to fell trees proved just as effective with flesh and bone for it buried itself in the skull of a stunted Darkspawn with loud wet crack.

Kicking the creature off his axe blade and swinging it downward to the nearest monster that came at him, Roanoke gashed the neck of a larger darkspawn and spilling foul burning blood all over him. Screams of pain, anger and terror filled the cave as his clansmen fought and died under the blades of the darkspawn and he was overwhelmed with concern for his daughter. He wanted to call out to Alfhild but before he could, he saw an armored darkspawn wielding a mace and shield come at him and he was forced to jump back to avoid having his head smashed in.

Landing on his feet, he knew that if he were to be distracted, even by just a little, it would mean only death for him. Readying himself for another attack, Roanoke charged into the darkspawn with axe raised in a murderous arc.

* * *

The Darkspawn encampment was now all up in arms as several of the creatures rushed to where the armored, horned helmeted knight stood. A ring of corpses surrounded the man who cursed at the monsters in Orlesian while his massive mace was now slick with blood, bits of flesh, bone fragments and brain matter. This knight fought with great skill, thought Arion with quite amazement as he remained behind the cover of a hill for while the unknown stranger bled from many wounds, he still stood his ground and looked ready to take on more of the things.

'We should help him' quietly said Anna as she as drew an arrow from her quiver.

'Si, I agree with the Señorita' came the voice of Cortez who drew a pair of daggers which were likely coated with a potent poison.

Garth of course remained silent as usual but a simple nod from him made it clear that he too was in agreement. Arion surveyed the gathered Darkspawn for a moment and his eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of the Hurlock Commander they had sought. Clad in barbaric armor that was colored dark yellow and wearing an intimidating horned helmet, the Grey Warden quickly informed his company of the enemy leader and soon they were able to devise a plan.

Anna would remain on the hill and use her bow pick off the Darkspawn while Arion himself would try to draw as much attention to himself as possible with Garth to back him up and Cortez to assassinate the Hurlock Commander. Another loud roar echoed across the camp as the armored stranger crushed the ribcage of a genlock and he followed up by knocking a Hurlock off of its feet with a strike to the gut. Performing a series of silent hand signals, Arion ordered them to move out.

Drawing his one of his two weapons which were both rune-imbued Saw Swords made from White Steel, the Grey Warden advanced over the hill as quietly as he possibly could. The battle within the camp raged on and to his further surprise, he saw the knight continue to stand and fight as blades and bludgeons struck against him. At a closer look, he quickly noticed the unfamiliar design of the knight's armor and the heraldry of the hart's head with the black and red behind it.

Perhaps the knight was a Chevalier from Serault? He did not know for sure and if the stranger was, then the man was just as much a long way from home as the Grey Wardens were. Creeping up to a bow armed Hurlock that was busy taking aim, Arion quickly used his left hand to cover the archer's mouth and he used his right hand sword to slit its throat. Blood sprayed all over the snow as the archer fell to its knees while making a gurgling sound and Arion quickly pulled out his second sword and he charged right into the fray.

The Grey Warden Duelist became a whirling storm of flashing steel as his twin swords moved with a fluid grace. Darkspawn who yet did not know of his presence soon found out as their heads were parted from their necks or arteries were rent open. Both of the blades which he carried were enchanted with two runes of Momentum which granted him extra speed and a Paragon Silverite Rune which was especially effective against the Darkspawn.

Delivering a Dual-sweep which simultaneously cut down two Genlocks to his side and a below the belt kick which struck a Hurlock in the crotch, he then swung both blades in reverse gripped scissoring strike that decapitated the unfortunate Darkspawn. As more of the monstrous things attacked him, he saw two Darkspawn quickly go down with arrows to the eyes and he heard the shattering of glass as flasks filled with corrosive acids broke on the exposed heads of Hurlocks and dousing their comrades in a burning alchemical mixture. The attack of the Wardens was both swift and brutal as bodies fell to the ground.

Jumping back to avoid the overhead slash of a great sword, he came face to face with the Hurlock Commander who wore a hideous tabard-like piece of clothing that looked to be made from crudely stitched, human flesh. Underneath its fearsome horned helmet and the glittering eyes which peered through its visor, Arion could see the calculating intellect that gleamed within. The Darkspawn Commander raised it great sword upwards into an aggressive stance with both hands holding on to the hilt and it loudly roared before charging him with the tip of the blade pointing towards him.

Bracing himself for the possibility of meeting the Hurlock's charge head on, he saw a swift, shadowy movement from behind which the Darkspawn seemed to sense. Spinning around with its great sword following it, the Hurlock Commander struck only air as Cortez ducked underneath the swing and he thrust his twin daggers up into the Darkspawn's armpits which were protected by a cloth-like material. The Antivan Assassin's poisoned blades slipped into the flesh of the Hurlock and when he pulled his weapons out, foul blood gushed out in a torrent before the venom set in an killing it immediately.

The remaining Darkspawn were for a moment stunned by the death of their leader but the Wardens did not give the monsters time to recover and already, they were quick to go back on the assault. Regrouping with Garth and Cortez whose blades were now coated in Darkspawn blood, the three Grey Wardens fought as a group with each man watching out for the other while arrows from Anna still found their marks. Like wheat brought before a scythe, the monsters were cut down in droves by the swift blades of the Wardens and the single knight who now stood upon a small mound of corpses.

The Darkspawn soon renewed their assault upon the party of Wardens and the knight, the former of which were of course prepared for such a thing and soon the night air was filled with the din of battle.

* * *

Roanoke buried his axe into the neck of another Darkspawn before kicking the monster to the cavern floor and he swung it up towards another. His axe struck the shield of one of the taller Darkspawn which also carried a cruel looking, curved sword in its hands. The Darkspawn countered by slamming its shield into the face of Roanoke whose vision blackened for a moment as agony coursed through his skull.

'Da!' came the voice of his daughter and he briefly heard the whistle of an arrow which was followed by a shout of pain. As his vision cleared up, Roanoke saw the sword and shield wielding Darkspawn collapse to its knees with an arrow lodged into one side of its neck and the tip protruding from the other.

Looking to his daughter and briefly wishing to thank her, Roanoke saw one of the smaller Darkspawn leap out from the shadows towards Alfhild with twin dagger. 'Behind you!' he shouted with terror filling his heart and he saw his daughter turn around in time to catch a glimpse of her attacker. The Darkspawn then brought its daggers down upon Alfhild who gasped and tried to take a step back but ended up tripping and falling on her rump.

Roanoke saw the blades barely miss his daughter's neck as she fell and had she not tripped and just stood there for less than a second longer, the daggers would have struck home. As much as he wanted to go and protect his daughter, he found that he could not for the Darkspawn and his battling clansmen blocked his path…

* * *

With eyes widened in fear, Alfhild saw the hideous, stocky creature advancing towards her with two daggers held in a reverse grip. She could see its sharp, bestial teeth which grinned at her with its ugly flat face, bald, spotted scalp, pointy ears and its eyes reminded her too much of a serpent's own. Having dropped her bow when she fell, Alfhild reached for her hunting knife which was still placed in its leather sheath over the left side of her waist.

The monster then leapt towards her with its arms raised and its maw widely opened to let loose a feral roar of bloodlust. Crawling back and trying to get away from the monster as it drew closer, Alfhild's heart began to beat as quickly as a drum and with such force that a small part of her feared that it would just explode underneath her breast. Drawing her knife which seemed pitifully small against the short yet bulky monster, she knew that her chances did not look too good now, she tightened the grip on her weapon and Alfhild watched with perfect, horrid clarity as her attacker plunged its daggers towards her and how she saw a heavy metallic object flying towards her attacker's head.

With a loud smack of metal upon flesh, Alfhild saw the head of the monster explode in a shower of bone and gristle with each gruesome piece clattering against the ground and the caverns walls like pieces of ice. The body of the monster was knocked to the ground by the impact from what to her surprise was the hammer of the old man they had found. A slow clatter of plates came from the direction of the fire where a shadowed figure rose and she saw the stranger walk towards his thrown weapon.

She saw that the old man whom her father believed was a shaman, now radiated with an aura of white fire that sent a chill into her veins. One of the old man's eyes was blind and milky white while the other was green in color yet there was something about it which looked more like the eye of a beast rather than a man. She heard the old man whisper something in a foreign tongue she did not understand as he picked up his hammer and she began to feel a strange tingling sensation.

Alfhild's fear of the monsters was soon replaced by an blind hatred and rage which began to cloud her thoughts. Baring her teeth and snarling like an animal with a pent up fury she could not explain, she saw the old man throw his head back and he unleashed a loud wolf-like howl that drowned out the sound of the battle. Red filled the vision of Alfhild as she got back up to her feet and she held her knife in a reverse grip while grabbing one of the daggers from her attacker.

Before she knew it, Alfhild was already in the thick of the fighting with her knife and dagger becoming slick with dark, burning blood. She barely noticed the similar change that had fallen upon her fellow clan members, she did not see the faces twisted in savage fury nor the number of things she killed. All that filled the mind of the young girl was the desire to kill and to rend the flesh of these things that dared to attack her clan.

* * *

Delivering a mighty swing that crushed the skull of another monster, Lothaire finally saw that their numbers began to thin out. Feeling a small measure of relief, the Paladin pushed himself further despite the pain and exhaustion to keep on fighting. The white cloaked figures of whom were also battling against the mutants, fought with an amazing degree of coordination and teamwork that was like a watching a band of expert duelists working in concert.

Confident that these figures were at least human as well, the Paladin turned his attention back to killing things with his mace. Another of the taller mutants came at him with a great axe held high over its head and Lothaire thrust his weapon towards it like a spear and he crushed the breastplate it wore along with its ribcage and it fell to the bloodied ground. The Paladin then delivered a coup-de-grace by smashing the side of its skull with a low swing and he quickly went on the offensive again and he killed more and more of the monsters until finally those who remained began to flee the Paladin and the white cloaked strangers.

Allowing the monsters to flee, Lothaire gave himself a moment to catch his breath as he still felt the adrenaline coursing through his system and he noticed that the strangers were likewise allowing the things to run. Soon the campsite was filled only with the burning campfire and cooling corpses as a tense silence fell upon them. Lowering his bloodied mace and resting its head upon the corpse-strewn, snowy ground, the Paladin quietly offered a prayer in thanks to the Lady for his survival before he would begin to tend to his wound.

Taking a seat on the body of one monster and using his mace to help set himself down, Lothaire winced in pain for there was still a crossbow bolt lodged into his left thigh and he had also been struck several times with swords, axes and bludgeoning weapons. He softly cursed, as he suddenly remembered that he left his healing draughts and other medicinal items which were in the satchels attached to his steed's saddle. Hoping to the Lady that she would be kind enough to grant him a blessing to stave off infection and disease until his wounds were cleaned and healed, Lothaire sometimes wished that he could make use of holy powers like the priests could like a healing one.

'Hail there Ser Knight' came the voice of one of the strangers who spoke in a thickly accented Breton and Lothaire saw one of the three cloaked individuals come towards him with blades sheathed. The stranger then pulled down the hood of his cloak to reveal a fair skinned man with shoulder-length brown hair, a thick stubble and eyes of a similar colour.

Lothaire nodded and replied with a bit of caution 'Hail and well met stranger, may I ask where we are at the moment and what were those foul things?' The white cloaked stranger gave Lothaire a questioning and somewhat surprised look and at a closer notice, the Paladin noticed the equipment which the stranger wore and he guessed that the man and his companions must be rangers.

'You… you don't know where you are?' asked the white cloaked fellow and the Paladin also noticed the other strangers pulling down their hoods and at least they looked human enough as well.

'I do not, that is why I am asking' said Lothaire who at the corner of his eye, he also noticed an incoming fourth ranger wielding a bow.

'We are in the frozen realms south of Ferelden, Ser Knight' the ranger then said which drew the curiosity of Lothaire who had never even heard of a country called Ferelden. 'It is best if you head up north and join the muster for the Darkspawn are no doubt preparing for another Blight upon the lands' added the ranger.

'Darkspawn? Blight?' questioned Lothaire who had also never heard of creatures called the Darkspawn, surely they must be facing some form of Chaos Mutants? Could it be that he was somewhere close to the dreaded Chaos Wastes?

One of the rangers, a swarthy skinned man who had the look of an Estalian then said something to the first man in a foreign tongue and he noticed that the other ranger, a rather shifty looking, bald headed man with pale skin and tattoos was also looking about the area with caution. A brief word was passed between them and Lothaire could have sworn that he heard them speaking in the language used by the barbarian people of Albion.

'We must leave now Ser Knight' announced the ranger he had talked to in a rather urgent tone 'we will tend to your wounds for now but we must go afterwards.'

There must be more of the fiends coming then thought the Paladin for while he had no fear of fighting more of the things, he was currently not in any condition to fight at full strength. Lothaire then nodded to the ranger and he saw the bald headed man move towards him while pulling out a leather case which looked to contain a number of medical tools. Oh great thought Lothaire a bit caustically, a trip to the Barber Surgeon, wonderful...

* * *

Breathing heavily as the rage which had consumed him begun to fade, Roanoke looked about with sheer surprise at the number of dead Darkspawn that were strewn around them. His leather gloves were slick with the blood of the creatures and his axe was even more notched and scratched than before as the viscous liquid dripped from its edge. His clansmen seemed just as confused and surprised as well when they saw the ruin they had wrought upon the Darkspawn who all now lay still and unmoving with the bodies of their kin strewn amongst the dead.

Men and women soon began to call to their fallen, checking to see who was still alive and who had wounds that needed tending to. He then looked about with alarm to see if Alfhild was all right and his heart was filled with relief when he saw his daughter seated on one side of the cavern and feeling the side of her forehead where only a small bump had lightly swollen up. His daughter then looked to him with relief as well and she called to him and asked if he was injured as well and his response was simply just having a mere flesh wound.

Among those of his clansmen who could still stand, he was glad to see Nilsine tending to a wounded Erling with a medicinal salve. As he moved to help the nearest of his injured clansmen, he heard the sound of metal plates jangling from the direction towards the cave entrance and he saw the old man head towards them with a Darkspawn blood spattering his armor and the foul head of one of the taller creatures was tightly clenched in one hand. The eyes of many of the hunters fell upon the old man who gave them an impassive look before speaking in a tongue he knew not the meaning.

'Did you see him da?' asked Alfhild with a bit of fear as glanced towards the old man 'he used magic on us.'

Superstitious fear began to fill the mind of Roanoke as their suspicions about the old man being a shaman was just confirmed, he wasn't sure if he should be thanking the gods just yet. The old man then asked something toward them in his language again and none among their clan understood. They met his speech with silence as the shaman said something again and it was only now that Roanoke noticed that the old man was blind in one eye and yet the sheer intensity from the other one made him feel like a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

The shaman then turned his gaze towards Alvor who had last held on to the old man's horn and the clansman was quick to return the object which the old man quietly took. Another unknown series of words were then spoken by the old man which also seemed like a question.

'I have no idea what you are saying' said Roanoke out loud towards the old man who fixed his one eye upon them. Again the old man said something unknown to them and when neither Roanoke nor his other clansmen said anything in response, he seemed to have just given up.

The old man then quietly began to watch them for a moment before he moved towards the fire where just a while ago, they had been preparing their meals. The old man retrieve his wolf-skull mask a which he placed over his face. Questions filled the mind of Roanoke about who this shaman was but first things first, his clansmen needed him.

He hoped that they could leave the cave soon though for he could see how badly injured some of his clansmen were and some even looked like they would need to be carried out. They needed to inform the Thane and the clan's shaman of the Darkspawn threat so close to their current campsight. Organizing everyone else to the best of his abilities, Roanoke hoped that the blizzard would subside soon for something told him that they had not seen the last of the Darkspawn.


	3. Chapter 3

Kneeling by the prone form of an injured barbarian, Albrecht Krieger applied a medicinal salve upon the wound of a man with a sword slash that cut across his chest and into the rib cage. The other barbarians, men and women who surrounded him were also tending to the injuries of their kin, some of whom would likely not make it without a proper surgeon or someone capable of using healing magic which the Warrior Priest doubted they would have. At the moment, he had no idea where in the world he was for it should not even be winter upon the Old World and yet he could feel the chill wind which cut to the bone like the blizzards of Kislev.

He could hear the foreign speech of the barbarians as they talked amongst themselves and he couldn't quite pinpoint what language they spoke for it certainly was neither Kislevarin nor was it Breton, Estalian, Tilean or any language spoken across the Old World. Each of them were dressed in thick furs with bows, axes, spears and other weapons which suggested that this group may be a hunting party. At the very least, he did not see any unholy symbols which would hurt the eyes to see nor were they murdering their wounded which at least showed that they were not like the savage northmen of the Chaos Wastes.

Was he perhaps somewhere in the east, past the World's Edge Mountains? Maybe close to the Mountains of Mourn where the Ogre Kingdoms lay or the Spice Route which led to the mysterious land of Cathay? It was possible but wherever he was, it definitely was not in either Middenland or the Empire for that matter. There was also something about this place which seemed… off, not in a purely physical sense to his surroundings but something much deeper. He inexplicably felt as if something which had been a part of him was now just gone and in its place was an emptiness, a sense of loneliness that affected the warrior at a deeply profound level.

Maintaining his composure and keeping an impassive face underneath his wolf skull mask, the Warrior Priest continued to assist in tending to the wounded. Until he could figure out where he was, it would be in his best interests to ingratiate himself to the barbarians who at least seemed human enough to the Albrecht.

* * *

'So I just drink this?' skeptically questioned Lothaire in Breton towards the rangers who had called themselves Grey Wardens while holding up a flask with a thick, syrupy red liquid inside. He sat upon the still armoured body of a dead monster with his left cuisse having been removed to reveal the breeches he wore under it, blood soaked the fabric which at least would not be expensive to replace.

Although the Paladin had in the past, imbibed restorative items such as healing draughts or elixirs, there occasionally was the chance that the alchemical mixture had already spoiled and some rather unpleasant side affect could occur such as a goitre, scabies, poisoning, mutation, death or bunions. As much as possible on the regular occasion of when he did need healing, Lothaire would have preferred to be tended to by a member of the Shallyan Sisterhood or perhaps even a physician with leeches to remove the ill humours from his body. Still, he supposed that these fellows knew what they were doing for the pale, tattooed man had been able to quite painfully but quickly, extricate the crossbow bolt which had pierced the Bretonnian's thigh.

'Do not worry, it is quite safe I can assure you Ser Knight' nodded the lead ranger who was named Arion as he his hands rested upon the pommels of two odd looking blades which were made of a whitish metal with rune stones placed along the hilt as the man, along with his companions were keeping an eye out to the horizon as they checked to make sure the the creatures they had called Darkspawn, were truly dead.

With a nod, Lothaire then set the flask down beside him with the bottom lying flat on the ground and he placed his gauntleted hands upon the side of his antlered helmet. Lifting up the protective headgear which was decorated with the horns of a stag he had once hunted, he soon felt the frozen air caress the bare skin upon his bearded face. Picking up the flask again, the Paladin gave a quite prayer of protection to the Lady of the Lake before drinking it and as quickly as the thick concoction went down his throat, he immediately began to feel much better for the pain on his thigh faded away and the wound closed.

'Huh, well that's much better' commented Lothaire as he placed his helmet back on before strapping the cuisse to his leg.

Reaching for his mace and using the great weapon to help him stand up to his feet, the Paladin then nodded to the rangers and they silently turned away with him following in their wake as snow continued to fall from the sky above. Wishing that he had a thick cloak of Kislevarin fur to keep himself warm, he was forced to stoically bear the cold while maintaining a dignified stride. He followed these Grey Wardens out of the monster encampment where he could still see the tracks of those Darkspawn who had fled, if he had a regiment of his fellow knights or men at arms, he would have taken it upon himself to hunt down the foul things but such was not the case.

Before they left the camp, Lothaire picked up a torch along the way which he used to light his path as well as offering some much needed heat to keep himself warm. The journey through the harsh cold proved to be a grueling one for the paladin as he trudged through the snow which reached up to his knees. He wished that he had his steed with him but the noble creature had not been dragged along with him to wherever this place was.

In silence they would travel along the frozen wasteland with howling winds which cut to the bone blowing against them. Throughout the journey, Lothaire whispered prayers to the Lady of the Lake as a mantra, reciting passages from prayer books which gave him the will to persevere.

* * *

As the night passed and the sun rose in the sky, the hunting party were also relieved that the blizzard outside had abated. Roanoke organized his clansmen between those who could carry the wounded by using makeshift stretchers crafted from the bones and furs of the bears and others to keep watch for any more dangers which may hide among the snow, they soon set forth, moving as quickly and carefully as they could for there were those among the injured who needed far more care than the hunters could provide. At the front of the group was Roanoke with bow and arrow in hand while his daughter and those with keen eyes kept their own ranged weapons ready.

The wolf shaman, the old man of whom all he had been able to learn was named Albrecht, accompanied the hunting party with his maul tightly held in both hands. Despite the weight of his armor and the wolf fur cloak which offered some protection from the elements, the shaman did not seem to be bothered by even the slightest with the intense cold which surrounded them and it looked like he could even set the pace.

The hunting party would then travel for sometime throughout the cold morning, occasionally stopping to check on their injured clansmen before carrying on. It was later until almost noon that they finally arrived the temporary village of tents their clan had set up. Children, wives, husbands and other family members were quick to greet the returning hunters but the reunion which was usually one of joy would turn into tears and grief.

Seven hunters had died in the fighting with the Darkspawn, two more had expired in the morning and at least one man was running an intense fever. Those injured who had survived were quickly sent to the tent of their clan's shaman and the rest of the hunting party dispersed within the camp. Among those who were there to meet them was their clan's leader, Thane Ivar who was dressed in thick furs with a mighty greenish-grey Great Maul made from Veridium sheathed upon his back.

A worried look was on the face of the large, bearish man with a thick mane of black and grey hair who was well known as a wise leader and skilled warrior. Roanoke had much respect for the Thane who was fair and just in his judgment and would often ask others of their opinions on situations and how to make the best of it. For some time now, Roanoke had also been something of a right hand man to the Thane.

'What happened out there Roanoke?' asked the Thane as he briefly made a head count of the returning hunting party.

'We were attacked by Darkspawn' replied Roanoke in a quite tone and the Thane had a stunned look over his face for he too had also dismissed the Darkspawn sightings as only stories.

'Gods' whispered the Thane with disbelief as he looked away for a moment with a thoughtful expression. 'We will need to move the camp then' said the Ivar in a calm manner which carried with it a hint of more worry 'our village is just out in the open'.

'I agree' nodded Roanoke for they had no walls or even palisades around the camp 'but where do we go?'

'North' the Thane then said 'some of the other clans there have set up villages in the Kocari Wilds which have walls or deep water which surrounds them'.

'I will make sure to inform the others then' nodded Roanoke.

'No, you and your daughter should take what rest you can, I will organize the relocation' said the Thane as he laid a meaty hand upon Roanoke's shoulder and gave him a nod friendly which the huntsman returned.

'By the way' asked the Thane 'who was the outsider you brought in, the one wearing all that armor.'

'I don't know' shrugged Roanoke 'I think he is a shaman, definitely not one of us, Avvar maybe or even further from the north, doesn't speak a word of common.'

'I will try and have a talk with him then' spoke the Thane and the two parted ways with Roanoke wearily heading towards his tent.

* * *

The Grey Warden party and their knightly companion finally stopped at perhaps two hours past midnight to rest within an ancient circle of standing stones atop a snow covered hill which the Wardens had previously camped in. Many centuries worth of frost and rime covered the formation of stones which the local Chasind tribes knew nothing of who had built it; just that it had been there long before their ancestors had even begun wandering this land. Were Arion a scholar or some learned fellow who studied at an academy, perhaps he would have taken a deep interest in trying to figure out the history of this place but he was neither and as a Grey Warden, he appreciated the defensive position it held.

Aside from being placed upon high ground, there oddly were multiple positions around the hill which resembled redoubts. A small force of armed soldiers or mercenaries would have been enough to turn the hill into a make-shift bastion but such a thing would have only drawn too much attention for the chief weapons of the Grey Warden party was surprise and fear. Of course that may now be changed with this Chevalier who insisted that he was not from Orlais and that rather, he was from some country none of the Wardens had ever heard of called Bretonnia.

Still though, considering that the knight had fought very well against the Darkspawn, Arion was unwilling to turn away such a skilled a warrior who could be of great use to them, if the man did not freeze to death first that is for the Wardens all wore enchanted apparel which guarded them from the chill. Garth had given the Chevalier a few Ice Salves which offered only a temporary reprieve yet fortunately for their new guest, Anna and Cortez were already setting up a fire (by burning animal dung) and before long, they had a warm flame going on.

They melted snow for fresh water and roasted the meat of some local breed of deer which had been recently hunted by the Wardens and wrapped in a papery foil. Throughout the night, Arion further questioned the knight who seemed convinced that they were in some place called the Chaos Wastes which was supposed to be north from a nation called Kislev and that the knight had arrived here after a battle against some creatures called beastmen. The Grey Warden believed the knight must have either been insane or taken quite a few blows to the head for none of what the man said had made any sense.

In the end he decided to drop the subject and instead had focused on the current threat of the Darkspawn. By the time morning came, Arion had informed the knight on what was needed to be known about what the Darkspawn were and along with the duty of the Grey Wardens. Of course, he did leave out certain parts which of course was not needed to be known by those outside of the Grey Warden Order.

* * *

'You and you companions have an honourable duty _monsieur_ Arion' commented Lothaire with a measure of respect for these Grey Wardens were dedicated to fighting evil and protecting people.

His respect for these Wardens, while fairly good, had lessened when he had learned that that everyone within their order was equal, regardless of whether they were born peasant, noble man or especially woman. It somewhat reminded him of those ridiculous followers of the southern goddess Myrmidia whose Knightly Orders such as the Blazing Suns of the Empire were known to accept peasants and women into their ranks. Still, he supposed that as bizarre as the ways of foreign folk could be, as long as they remained focused on smiting the servants of darkness and if they could do so with utmost efficiency then he would leave them to such uncouth methods.

'It is a bit of a thankless task on most days' shrugged the Grey Warden who was the only one among these Rangers whom the Paladin could commune with.

'But a necessary one for if what you say about these… Darkspawn are true' Lothaire then said as he took a sip from metal cup fill with melted snow-water 'vigilance itself should be its own reward'.

'Most people do not see it that way since the last Blight' then said the Grey Warden as the rest of his companions prepared to strike up their camp.

From what Lothaire had learned, these Blights which they believed was also happening now, was something similar to the great chaos invasions which occasionally occurred in the north. He had heard stories of The Great War fought in Kislev centuries earlier where the Men of the Empire, the Dwarfs and even the Fay of distant Ulthuan had stood united along with the armies of the northern Tsars.

'In Bretonnia' said Lothaire 'the king occasionally grants the title of Marquis towards high skilled knights who are then put in charge of fiefs which often are the targets of attacks from savages such as the beastmen or the greenskins, often this is done for the sake of creating a bulwark to help further defend the Realm.'

'I can't imagine the lord who inherits that position after would not be very thrilled to have to defend that fief' then said Arion.

'It happens at times' nodded Lothaire with some disdain 'there are some young lords who forget their duty to the Realm and would rather be off advancing their own personal glory rather than performing the royal charges the king had given to their fathers.'

'Well with us Grey Wardens, it is not a duty we are born into but one which we all agree to uphold, willingly or not' spoke Arion with a hint of resentment in his voice.

'And that is why it is an honourable task' repeated Lothaire 'for the man who was born with the mantle of duty and chivalry, it is merely something to be expected of but for others who would give up commoners life of simple toil and stand up to face the darkness makes them all the more of a hero for it'.

'I guess you would fit in well with the Wardens' Arion then said before one of his companions, the fellow who looked like an Estalian named Cortez had called to the ranger and by Lothaire's guess, they were ready to move out.

He had already learned that this particular group of Wardens he was now travelling with were supposed to be harrying these Darkspawn creatures before their horde marches northwards to nation called Ferelden which was still marshalling its forces. As much as he did not believe the absurd notion that they were in the far south of some continent called Thedas, the fact that he was not up to his neck with daemons and Chaos worshippers did add some credibility to their claim. Being all the way the out here in the middle of nowhere in this strange land, Lothaire immediately decided to assist these Grey Wardens for until he had some way of getting back to civilization, it seemed that his best chances of survival lay within them.

* * *

After a long and fruitless conversation with the barbarian chieftain, Albrecht Krieger was not one step closer in finding out where he was. He exited the tent of the chieftain with a warm feeling in his gut for the barbarian leader had at least been hospitable enough to share some potent, alcoholic drink which helped banish the chill inside of him. Another of the barbarians, an old shaman who carried many small trinkets of animal bones had tried to converse with Albrecht but he proved to be as unsuccessful as the rest of their clan.

The shaman had preformed some sorcerous spells upon the wounded which caused their flesh and bones to mend like the healing spells of a wizard or a priest of another faith. It also somewhat reminded Albrecht rather uncomfortably of the Northmen Zealots, rabid witch-priests of the Dark Gods who often wielded knives and sorcery which could also heal the injuries of Chaos followers and place hexes upon their foes. Some instinct within Albrecht told him that these barbarians were not kind to the Chaos tainted savages of the north but still, that did not mean that they could still be capable of the same brutalities which other humans were just as easily capable of achieving on their on.

He would have to remain vigilant and alert for treachery while at the same time, he should try to gain their trust until he can find some proper civilization. Carefully surveying his surroundings, the Warrior Priest of Ulric found only tents made from bones, hides and furs with fair skinned men, women and children busily preparing to move the camp. A somber mood had fallen upon them since his arrival, no doubt brought by the deaths of their clan members from those monstrosities which attacked the cave.

There was something about those creatures which reminded Albrecht of Chaos mutants but at the same time, there was none of that foul, sickly miasma which followed the followers of the Ruinous Powers. Whatever they were, they radiated with corruption and evil like the undying Vampire Counts or the verminous Skaven. He then heard the slight sound of snow crunching underneath one's foot, it was done in a quiet way which only a skilled hunter could achieve and he turned his masked visage towards its source.

Albrecht then heard a frightened gasp as a young girl with bright red hair and green eyes meekly stepped away from him and he recognized her as of being among the hunting party. He had seen how the girl remained close to the leader of the hunting party and he was quickly able to deduce from the similarities in their faces that they were father and daughter. For a moment, the green eyed girl looked to him with a slight expression that was a mixture of fear and uncertainty before taking a deep breath and stepping forward.

In her hands, he noted a small necklace which looked to be made from a lace of catgut with bear teeth attached to it. The girl then offered the necklace to the Warrior Priest who slowly and gently took it from her as she spoke something in a tone which seemed grateful. He of course remembered how he had saved the young girl the previous night. He saw her being attacked by a squat orc-looking creature and without thinking of it, he hurled his hammer at the monster.

Nodding to the girl who then gave a slight nod of her head to the Warrior Priest, she quickly then went off to rejoin her kin. Perhaps he should re-evaluate his opinion of these barbarians thought Albrecht as he looked at the small necklace which he then added among his collection of many bone and tooth trinkets.

Unsure of what he should be doing next, Albrecht then began to get an itch upon his palms and he picked up a foul scent in the air. Tightening the grip upon his blessed hammer, the Warrior Priest knew well enough to trust his instincts for it seemed that trouble had just followed them.


	4. Chapter 4

Dark clouds began to gather in the sky above as snow continued to fall and there was something about it which seemed… unnatural to Lothaire. His eyes squinted beneath the visors of his antlered armet helmet as he studied the way the clouds moved for in the many wars he had fought against the enemies of Man, the minions of darkness often used foul sorcery to blot out the sun as a way to intimidate their foes. Something at the back of his mind insisted that there was something unnatural about it and he was inclined to believe it for he noted the way his mace began to softly glow.

Looking to the cloaked Grey Wardens whose attentions were also turned to the sky, he noted the way which they carefully held their weapons and he knew that he was not alone in his suspicions.

'Darkspawn sorcery' said the lead Warden; Arion, who spoke in the language which the man insisted was called Orlesian, despite sounding exactly like an oddly accented Breton.

'Are any of those creatures nearby?' asked the Paladin who tightened his hold upon the handle of his mace which rested over his right shoulder.

'No, but I believe that they are…' replied the Grey Warden who then looked to the frozen tundra ahead and after a moment he pointed to the northeast and said 'there'.

'Are you certain of this?' questioned the Paladin with more than a bit of skepticism while raising a curious eyebrow for there were hardly any tracks which they could follow that was not covered by the falling snow.

'I am positive' replied Arion who then continued to speak. 'It is a Grey Warden thing, we are… well, let's just say we are very good at finding the Darkspawn, wherever they are and wherever they may be hiding.'

'I see' replied Lothaire with some suspicion for he was a man who knew a thing or two about tracking and surviving in the wilds.

During his younger years as a Knight Errant, Lothaire had spent much time fighting beastmen in the Forests of Arden and traveling with groups of nomadic peasants who made their living as hunters, trappers as well as scouts and rangers for the armies of Bretonnia. In those days, he had learned much by observing the peasants who had developed an almost supernatural sixth sense in finding out the locations of beastmen encampments or the lairs of large monsters and even following the movements of entire armies through forest and snow during winter. He supposed that it is possible that these Wardens were just as capable but he could not discount some… other possibilities which would have darker implications.

One of the other Wardens, the woman named Anna then said something in their native language, the one which sounded like the tongue of Albion and other Wardens nodded to her.

'We need to move, now' quickly said Arion.

'Trouble?' asked the Paladin who was quite eager to do some smiting for it was quite a good way to get the blood pumping and the body warm.

'Aye, there might be people who need our help' answered the Warden.

'Then we must not waste any time!' said Lothaire and the party of five broke quickened their and pressed on through the deep snow.

* * *

Reaching for the ancient, rune etched horn which had been carried on the side of his belt, Albrecht Krieger lifted the instrument up to his lips and he let loose a single mighty peal which sounded much like the how of a wolf. Not bothering to give those around him an explanation for he spoke none of their foreign speech, the Warrior Priest merely followed the stench which was the same as the creatures he had encountered in the cave and he hoped that it would be enough to alert the. Tightly gripping his blessed hammer, the head of which was fully coated with ice, he noticed that the sky had suddenly darkened and there was something about it which caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.

Gritting his teeth beneath the wolf-skull mask, Albrecht felt the battle-rage build up within him as he continued to run. Eventually making it to the edge of the camp where a few sentries armed with hunting bows stood guard. Each of the archers had a readied look in their stances, aware that there was something out there in the snow-swept tundra.

One of the archers looked to Albrecht with a surprised expression and it was then that he saw something behind the barbarian. A hideous, ghoul-like creature clad in crude armour appeared from the darkness like the cyclopean, mist-born fiends of dark legend which stole away victims to be sacrificed for the Dark Gods. The monster gave a loud, bat-like shriek before plunging a pair of long wrist-mounted blades into the shoulders of the unfortunate archer and soon the air became filled the ear-splitting cacophonies of the beasts.

Raising up his hammer and holding it in a two-handed grip, Albrecht swung his weapon in a vertical arc which caught the ghoul-like creature below the jaw. Bones crunched beneath the blow of the hammer-strike which knocked the monster's head back with a loud snap of bone that knocked the thing down to the snowy ground. The other shrieking ghoul-things savagely attacked the barbarian archers like ratmen assassins, their blades plunging in and out of human flesh protected only by mere furs and leathers.

Wishing that he had a bow or a throwing weapon, the Warrior Priest simply rushed another of the creatures closest to him with hammer trailing behind and he let loose a loud, wolf-like howl. The Ghoul-thing of which had been busy disemboweling a barbarian looked up from its latest kill and gave a loud screech, baring sharp needle-like teeth. Thrusting his hammer forward, the ghoul-thing leapt back, trying to avoid being struck but the Ulrican warrior continued to race forward and he followed up with a sharp punch which connected with the thing's snout.

Feeling the impact as his gauntleted fist struck against tainted flesh with enough force to break teeth, the Warrior Priest quickly followed up with a hammer strike to the skull, his right hand close to the head for the sake of speed. His second attack was not enough to outright kill it but the mystical frost which covered the weapon began sending daggers of cold into the monster's brain. Loudly screeching again but in clear agony added, it lashed out at Albrecht with one of it's the wrist-mounted blades but as ever, the dependable Dwarf-forged steel armour held and sparks flew as it slid off but the impact was enough to cause the Warrior Priest to grunt in pain and he kept his attention squarely on the monster.

Delivering a swift forward kick to knock the thing back, he succeeded in pushing it away and he held his hammer with both hands.

'ULRIC!' roared Albrecht Krieger who raised his hammer up high and he brought its head down with all of his might. The Ghoul-thing did not have time to react before the blessed weapon came crashing down on its skull, causing it to burst like an overripe melon and splattering bits of brain, bone and burning blood upon the Warrior Priest.

Quickly recovering from the strike and setting into a defensive stance, Albrecht saw the other ghoul-things eye him with baleful glares. Like hungry wolves who have found prey, they cautiously began to circle around the man who was already planning his own attack. Suddenly bursting into motion, Albrecht charged another of the things with another howl and he allowed his battle-rage to fully take over for such was the way of Ulric the Wolf Lord, Ulric the Snow King, Ulric the Blood Hand.

Let the Myrmidians, Elves and others deal with the nuances of strategy and planning for all the Warrior Priest needed was courage, strength and faith in himself and his skill in battle.

* * *

Calls of alarm were heard all over encampment and Roanoke desperately rushed out of his tent with axe in hand, his eyes wide with surprise and fear.

'Alfhild!' he shouted while desperately searching about for his daughter among the crowd of fellow clansmen who also came out of their tents armed for battle. 'Alfhild!' he shouted again as the women folk tightly clutched their children and he heard the sounds of loud, bestial screeches which filled the air.

Frantically trying to find the source of the noise, he saw something large and lanky moving quickly among the crowd and he tried to shout a word of warning but was too late and the creature leapt upon one of the children.

Shouting a curse, Roanoke ran towards the thing with hands wrapped around the handle of his axe and he shouted wildly, trying to get the thing's attention and it looked towards him. A hideous, thin limbed creature with pointy ears, a hairless skull, sharp teeth with mandibles on the side and wearing crude armor hissed at him before plunging what looked to be a wrist-mounted blade into the back of the defenseless child. The huntsman's eyes widened in horror but he did not halt his charge towards the monster nor did he falter in step as he drew ever closer to the monstrous thing which surely must be some other form of Darkspawn.

The Darkspawn creature then let loose a threatening hiss and in a single, moment, it began bounding towards him on all fours like a wild animal. Preparing himself for the possibility that it would leap towards him, Roanoke swept his axe in a sideway arc, loosening his grip by just a little to allow the wooden handle slide off a bit and to give himself some extra reach. The blade of his axe slammed buried with a loud, sickening crunch into the side of the monster's head, knocking it into the snowy ground and the impact of the strike made it feel like he had just tried to hit a full grown bear.

Not giving the thing time to recover, the huntsman quickly kicked the Darkspawn in its bloodied face before bringing its axe down on its head again and again. A loud wet crack resounded as Roanoke's axe struck the skull of the monster and he felt more of its burning blood splatter against his face. By the time he was sure the thing was dead, all that had been left of its head was a grisly lump of meat and bone. The familiar peal of a hunting horn then blew from elsewhere in the camp and a measure of hope filled the heart of Roanoke for it was a call to arms for the entire clan.

Following the sound of the horn, the huntsman knew that his daughter and anyone who could fight would be heading there. All around him, Roanoke saw many chaotic scenes play out as more of the shrieking Darkspawn had somehow managed to make it into the heart of the camp and past the sentries who were supposed to have been on the lookout. Despite being filled with a paternal dread for the wellbeing of his daughter, he knew that he could not abandon those of his clan of whom he could help.

* * *

Taking a deep breath and drawing an arrow from her quiver, Alfhild quickly nocked the projectile upon the string of her bow and she took aim at one nightmarish, thin limbed monster before firing. Straight and true, the arrow flew across the frozen air, its waxed head successfully struck the right eye of the thing and it buried itself deep into the hole. Doing her best to keep calm and avoid panicking, she remembered the lessons her father had taught her.

"In the wilds, never lose your nerve" he father had once said. "There may come a time when the hunt may not go as you wish and all that will stand between the hunter from becoming the hunted is what you do next".

A palpable sense of fear permeated around Alfhild's fellow clansmen, many of whom tightly held onto what weapons they carried and they called out to loved ones who had yet to be accounted for. The only one who was keeping them together was Thane Ivar whose face was mostly concealed by his horned helmet and he shouted orders towards the others. Clansmen armed with melee weapons or with shields were forming a defensive ring while those armed with bows remained behind along with the children and elderly.

The loud peal of the Thane's horn blew again, a rallying call to the rest of the clan to gather around it. As more people sought safety and strength which was offered by numbers, Alfhild remained on the lookout for her father who was still out there.

'More of them!' shouted one of the clan warriors and the young huntress turned her eyes to the man who shouted and she saw where he was pointing out.

From the darkness came five more of the long limbed monsters, each one shrieking loudly and bounding towards them like wild animals. Quickly bringing up her bow and focusing on being able to make a shot, Alfhild fired another arrow which was joined by several others. Two of the things went down; another stumbled but kept on going while the remaining two did not seem to even seem the slightest bit bothered about being shot.

'Shield wall!' ordered the Thane and immediately did several of the clansmen move closer to form a defensive line. The two monsters crashed into the shield wall, knocking down one clansman while the other was quickly stabbed in the right shoulder and would have been killed had the nearest other warriors not intervened with a well placed axe strike to the back of the thing's head. The other Darkspawn beast leapt towards the Thane with blades raised high and Alfhild quickly tried to bring her bow to bear upon the it but their clan's chieftain was quick to react.

With a single, mighty swing of his hammer, Thane Ivar smashed the head of his maul into the side of the monster's face, creating a loud crunch of bone as its skull was pulverized from the single strike. The creature flopped lifelessly into the snowy ground and the chieftain then began calling out to reorganize their defensive formation. Quickly turning her eyes back to the camp and seeing more people rally to them, Alfhild's heart leapt in joy when she saw her father leading a group of several other clan-folk towards them and suddenly, several great bestial roars were heard not far away from the group.

The ground then began to tremble and several tents were either torn down or outright destroyed and whatever it was, it drew closer to them. Alfhild's eyes then widened in terror as she saw three massive, horned monstrosities crash through the nearest tents, splintering wood, bone and trampling the fur hide canvas. Standing taller than even a full grown bear, she saw a beast which sported a set of curling horns, rippling muscles and a great maw which was filled with sharp, dagger like teeth.

With a loud, thunderous roar, the three monsters charged into the gathered group of Chasind clanfolk. Soon, human bodies were sent flying, each one struck with bone shattering force as a horde of lesser but no less dangerous things which had been encircling the camp now launched their own, savage assault…

* * *

The presence of so many Darkspawn nearby was more than enough to set the nerves of Arion and his fellow Grey Wardens on edge. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand, an itch in his palms and a general feeling of being watched was mutual among them for he knew that the monsters could in turn, sense them. Every one of the humans traveled with weapons drawn, their eyes on the frozen horizon, wary for any other dangers such as wildlife or even hostile Chasind Wilders.

'How much further!?' called the knight towards Arion as the large man remained not far behind the lightly armored party of Wardens.

'Yonder past those hills' replied Duelist from Kirkwall who pointed one of his Saw-Swords towards the snow covered mounds ahead and the party moved on.

Within the minds of each of the Wardens, the sound of whispering voices grew louder, a strong sign of the great number of Darkspawn in the area. To many of them, the whispers were meaningless but for Arion, he was able to make some sense of what the monsters were doing. It seemed that a war party of Darkspawn had found a group of Chasind and the beasts were eagerly sating their lust for blood and violence.

It was then that they heard the sound of hunting horns being blown and soon were followed by great roars which were heard in the distance, the distinctly thunderous and bestial war cries of Darkspawn Ogres.

'What in the Lady's name was that!?' questioned Lothaire with alarm.

'Ogres' warily replied Arion who sheathed his twin swords and he drew a Dragonthorn Crossbow of Antivan craftsmanship that had been slung across his back. A quiver of specially prepared Sureshot Bolts which were specifically designed to kill Darkspawn had also rested on his back and the Duelist quickly loaded one of the projectiles into the ranged weapon and the other Wardens drew their own ranged weapons and Garth began handing them small bottles filled with poison.

Applying the a small dose of toxins to the tip of his loaded bolt, the Warden heard a disdainful grunt from the Knight. Behind the visor of Lothaire's helmet, Arion saw contempt in the eyes of the strange armored man whose gaze was focused on the crossbow which the Grey Warden carried and especially towards the small vial of poison he held. The Knight then turned away and stomped off towards the sound of battle.

Noticing the attentions of his fellow Grey Wardens, Arion nodded to them and grimly spoke. 'Time to bloody these bastards again…'

* * *

Huffing with contempt towards these Grey Wardens, Lothaire's opinion of them had just fallen further at the sight of them using ranged weapons and worse, poison! The only thing more cowardly than a black powder gun! Cresting over the series of snow-covered hills, the Paladin soon found the source of the battle. Upon the top of the hill, the Bretonnian Knight saw the dozens of fur hide tents and the many things which moved within the encampment.

At the center of the gathered tents, three massive horned creatures which he at first thought were Minotaurs, were rampaging among what clearly were other humans. With long, great muscled forms, the monstrous beings which surely could not be the ravenous denizens of the Mountains of Mourn, were swinging their mighty arms around and crushing bodies with each sweep. At the edge of the camp, not far from where the Paladin stood, he saw a single figure, surrounded by several corpses and more encroaching monsters.

Soft crunches of snow were heard from behind the Knight who glanced over his shoulder and he saw the four Grey Wardens. The three men were armed with crossbows with the bolts coated in toxins and the one woman who carried a longbow. It bothered him a bit that these Wardens would bring a woman to such a harsh land where it was clear that there were many monsters yet he reminded himself that it was not so different from the Iranna Mountains of Carcassonne he supposed which were patrolled by the local sheep herders who kept watch for warbands of the Iron Orcs.

Giving a quiet nod to the group of four hooded individuals, the Paladin held his mace in a two handed grip and he began to run down the hill towards the camp. Despite the unnatural darkness, he was able to get a good look at the monsters which were the same ones he had recently encountered; the things the Grey Wardens called Darkspawn. Of the lone figure, he saw a hammer-wielding warrior clad in a suit of plate armour, a grim bone mask and a fur cloak made from wolf moving with the stance of a skilled warrior.

'For the King! For the Lady!' roared Lothaire at the top of his lungs and he drew the attention of several monsters who bared their sharp teeth towards him. Like in the Darkspawn camp, the Paladin encountered the tall, man-sized monsters and the smaller stocky ones but there also were the bodies of many thin limbed things.

With a single might sweep Lothaire's blessed mace which blazed with fey-light crashed into the chest of a tall monster that came at him with two swords. The loud crack of metal striking against metal echoed into the dark, frozen air. Pulverizing organs and bones before crashing lifelessly into the snowy ground while others tried to attack the Paladin who kept a up a fine balancing act of aggressive and defensive tactics. Knowing that he was outnumbered by the things, Lothaire moved back and forth, trying to avoid having the creatures surrounded him while at the same time he pressed his attack.

A whistling sound was heard as an arrow flew past his head and burying into the eye of a Darkspawn that had been coming at him and immediately afterwards, three more monsters were cut down by well placed shots from the Grey Wardens. He would have preferred a more direct form of assistance from them such as with sword but he supposed that like the common peasant levies which supported the charges of Bretonnia's knights, ranged fighters such as archers and siege weapons had their uses. Regardless of their methods of combat, Lothaire had found some vile creatures of darkness and it was his duty to smite the foul things.

Like a raging Estalian bull, the Paladin continued an aggressive assault; his blessed mace crushed bones and pulped organs as soon as it made contact with the bodies of the Darkspawn. Smashing his way through the packs of monsters, his suit of full plate armour which was of best craftsmanship had been able to successfully protect him from crude swords and daggers but weapons such as axes and maces were far better at getting through his defenses. Pain flared across the body of Lothaire who ignored it and he continued to fight on towards the camp.

With another swing, he splattered the brains of a stocky orc-like Darkspawn and he crushed the ribcage of a taller one by striking its chest. Arrows and bolts continued to fly from the Wardens, their accuracy was surprisingly remarkable for throughout most of the Old World, no civilized battlefield commander worth his salt would ever allow ranged troops into places where close combat engagements took place, even if they did have reserves in place! A mighty war cry echoed from nearby and it was enough to give the Paladin pause for in it, he heard a name…

* * *

'ULRIC!' savagely roared Albrecht Krieger as his hammer smashed into the face of another monster and he delivered a sharp kick that knocked one beast away, giving him time for another swing. 'ULRIC!' he roared again as he killed and killed more of the monsters.

Despite his advanced years, the Warrior Priest, whose senses had been overtaken by a berserk rage to match that of a Northman, ignored all pain and all exhaustion. Kill or be killed was what his world had devolved into and it was something all true followers of the Wolf God would embrace for there was a purity in the strength offered by rage within. Had he time to prepare for the battle, he would have consumed some Weirdroot poultices like those used by the ancient warriors of the Thuringians tribe to further fuel his fury.

Dark, burning blood matted his armour along with pieces of bone and brain-matter as the Warrior Priest combined his battle rage with decades of personal experience in the ways of combat. Crushing the skull of another monster and expertly parrying the great axe of another, his latest attack, one monster which was fully clad in crude armour and a horned helmet, gave him a bestial growl before something heavy slammed into the back of its head. From behind its visors, Albrecht saw its eyes roll up and behind it, he saw, much to his surprise, another human, a warrior clad in a resplendent suit of plate armour.

Quickly, did Albrecht notice the prominent Fleur-de-lys heraldries upon the knight's personage and he instantly realized that this stranger was a Bretonnian. Hardly giving it any other thought for now was not the time, the Warrior Priest turned around to face more of the incoming monsters and he gave a brief glance to the foreign warrior. Despite what differences the peoples of the Empire and Bretonnia had, they were united by their common humanity against the dark things of the Old Night.

Back to back, both men fought, veteran warriors who had faced the forces of darkness on countless battlefields across the Old World, against the savage hordes of the greenskins, the dead that did not rest and the even the foul minions of the Dark Gods. With hammer and mace they smashed aside all resistance, their foes were left broken and bleeding into the snowy ground as more of the beasts assailed them. Some of the creatures they had fought were cut down by arrows and bolts from a nearby band of archers and the Warrior Priest was able to catch a glimpse of four, hooded figures assisting them from atop a hill.

Privately wishing that he had a regiment of State Troops with him instead, the Warrior Priest put his trust and his faith in the Wolf God to see him through this battle. It did not take long before the packs of monsters which had been attacking them began to thin out with those nearest to them now taking a more wary stance while many others instead began going after the archers. Looking to the Bretonnian to see if they should do anything about it, he saw that the knight's gaze was focused upon the hill as well.

A mighty explosion was then heard from the hill and Albrecht gave a quick glance to see several burning bodies tumbling down the hill. Briefly, he saw the glints of blades being drawn from the archers and the Warrior Priest hoped that they could take care of themselves until then. Returning his attention to the still cautious creatures that surrounded them, the Warrior Priest snarled at them from underneath his mask and he let loose another loud, wolf-like howl, a last cry to honour his god before returning to the grim task of butchery at hand.


	5. Chapter 5

'For Thedas! For the Grey Wardens!' roared Arion at the top of his lungs as he rushed down the hillside with both of his swords drawn and accompanied by Garth and Cortez. Adrenaline coursed through the veins of the Duelist as his boots crunched down upon the snow and he gave a mighty leap, directly into the thick of the fighting. His right foot landed onto the face of a Genlock, shattering its teeth while delivering a well timed dual sweep of his swords which decapitated two Hurlocks.

A crude, Darkspawn sword wielded by another Hurlock was thrust towards Arion who expertly parried it with one of his own blades and he countered with a quick riposte that struck his attacker's throat. With speed and skill honed from long years of practice as a mercenary and later as one of the Wardens, he left a trail of death in his wake. Limbs and heads were sent flying as the runic white steel swords of Arion went flying in all directions, creating a barrier of flashing metal that served well both for defense and offense.

Next to him, Cortez plunged one of his own blades into the jugular of a Hurlock while stabbing a Genlock in the right eye before delivering a swift kick that sent another Hurlock reeling back. Among the monsters, Garth wove in between their attacks, his bloody dagger finding its way into corrupted flesh while the other held onto a fragile clay flask which was no doubt filled with something which he would use against the Darkspawn. And from the hill where they had been firing, Anna drew a special arrow which she let loose, the projectile flew into the neck of Genlock and it shattered into several small but sharp fragments which left other Darkspawn in a daze and leaving them as easy prey for the Wardens.

The Darkspawn were quickly and mercilessly cut down by the skilled band of Grey Wardens, their dark blood staining the white snow. Assisted by pieces of enchanted gear, which they were all equipped with, the Grey Wardens moved faster than was possible for any mortal man, the magic within it also lent them a greater degree of strength, allowing them to make even more, felling blows. They held their ground while Knight and the other warrior, both whom still stood, fought back to back and surrounded by an ever growing pile of corpses.

The whispering voices which accompanied the Darkspawn began to become more frantic and Arion immediately understood its meaning. All of the death and slaughter they had caused was enough to draw the attention of the beasts and now, orders were being filtered into their minds, marking the Wardens and the two warriors as primary targets. Good, thought Arion as he readied himself into an aggressive stance and soon he heard the loud, angry roars of the Ogres.

* * *

A loud smack, followed by the crunch of bone was heard by all as an unfortunate clansman was swept by the meaty fist of a giant, horned monster. Around Roanoke, many of his kin tried to flee from the giant monsters that seemed to easily shrug off the blows of their weapons. Having quickly become aware of how powerful these horned beasts were, the hunter had acquired a bow and a quiver from one of the slain archers and he quickly drew a shaft before taking aim.

Despite the fairly dire situation, he was glad that at least his daughter, Alfhild had safely managed to find her way to him.

'Aim for the eyes' whispered Roanoke and his daughter nervously nodded before placing an arrow to the string of her bow. Holding his breath and trying to steady his aim, Roanoke tried to blot out the carnage that was unfolding around him as he focused upon one of the giants. 'Now!' he then hissed and two arrows were sent flying, towards their target with one striking it in the right eye while the other tore a bloody gash into its left cheek.

The giant let out a loud roar of rage and pain and the beast gave them a baleful glare which turned Roanoke's blood into ice. Its bestial visage was made all the more terrible by the shaft protruding from its injured eye, blood pouring in rivulets that fell and mingled into the snow. Lowering its head, the horned giant lowered its shoulders and it charged towards them like an enraged bull.

Clansmen quickly tried to leap out of the monster's path but a few unfortunate ones were crushed underneath the heavy steps of the beast that moved with a surprising degree of speed. Another arrow was fired towards the giant, the pointed end burying into the meat of its left shoulder at the base of the neck and still it kept on coming towards them. Swiftly placing a hand on his daughter, Roanoke shouted for her to run and for a moment he saw the terrified look on her face before giving a quick nod and she obeyed him.

Tossing away the bow he had taken and drawing his forth his axe, Roanoke felt the beating of his heart as it increased in tempo and with grim certainty, he knew what was necessary. They could not outrun the beast, nor could they kill it with what weapons they had at the moment. A weary sigh escaped the lips of the huntsman as he tightened his grip upon his axe and he hoped to all the gods and to those who may be listening to protect is daughter.

Roaring a loud war cry of his own, Roanoke held his axe in both hands and he charged towards the horned giant, intent on at least bloodying the thing before death claimed him.

* * *

With another mighty swing of his mace, Lothaire caught one of the tall Darkspawn things on the side of its head and pulverizing it like a piece of rotten fruit. Dark, burning blood coated the shining plates of the Bretonnian's armour as pain coursed through him from where he had been struck by the crude weapons of the monsters and he could hear the sounds of battle and the death screams of other humans coming from the encampment. Surrounded by a horde of lesser enemies with much greater ones not far away, the Paladin could not help but feel a rush of excitement at his current situation.

Just as his recent battle against the Beastmen, Lothaire found that it was in times like this that he felt truly alive! His heart sang in feral joy as he crushed the bodies of monsters with his mace and he embraced the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins as he inhaled the foul scents of his foes. The blood of heroes flowed within the Paladin's veins for like all Bretonnia's aristocracy, his father and those before him had served the Lady and the Kingdom in the way a knight should and it would be a great dishonour to both himself and his ancestors if he did not strive to live up to their legacy.

Behind the Paladin, the Imperial fought with a brutal savagery to match that of a Noscan but one that was tempered by the discipline of a veteran warrior. The sight of the battling follower of Ulric drove Lothaire to greater heights of valour for he refused to be outdone, especially by someone from the Empire whose nobility had strange ideas about chivalry and knighthood which were laughable to any sane Bretonnian. Maintaining his focus on the horde of monsters, the Paladin struck down another with a single strike and he killed more and more until finally, they gained a moment's reprieve.

Corpses crushed to death by the mace and hammer of the two warriors surrounded them and both were quick to notice the fighting that occurred a short distance away. More bloodied bodies tumbled down the hill as the Grey Wardens made short work of the Darkspawn that assailed them with blades flashing in the darkness. Quickly deciding that the Wardens did not need his assistance, the Paladin quickly turned his attention towards the camp where more blood was being spilled.

Having fought in countless wars for almost three decades, Lothaire had grown to be intimately familiar with the sounds of war and he could, with a reasonable degree of success, tell how things fared and what he knew was not heartening. A complete slaughter was taking place in the encampment, the high pitched voices of women and children could be heard as their men-folk desperately tried to fight back against the things. He could not allow such a thing to continue, his honour demanded that he intervene, even if it meant losing his own life.

Looking to the Imperial, he could not tell what the man was thinking from behind that wolf-skull mask. The other warrior then turned his attention to the Knight and he gave a silent nod, a gesture which Lothaire approved of. There were dark fiends in dire need of purging this night and it was up to men like them to bring forth the cleansing fires of purgation.

It was just another day for the Paladin who gave a quiet prayer to the Lady of the Lake, a prayer hoping that the goddess would witness his deeds this day.

* * *

The slaughter of the barbarians filled the ears of Albrecht Krieger who was still in the throes of his battlerage, further fueling it. Cursing for the camp had been placed in a poorly defensible position; he knew that there were many places where the fiendish creatures could enter. Raising his head to the frozen air, he let out a mighty howl that joined the cacophony before running towards settlement with the Bretonnian following close behind him.

All was chaos within the camp as barbarians fought for their lives against rampaging packs of monsters carrying torches and blades. Fur tents were set ablaze as bodies were hacked apart by the savage creatures, blood stained the mud and snow which painfully reminded the Warrior Priest of too many sights he had seen. From the forests of the Empire to cold plains of Kislev, the lawless Border Princes and once even in Bretonnia, Albrecht had been part of an army that arrived too late to save a besieged town from the predations of the enemies of man and all that had been left was work for the priesthood of Morr.

Not today, vowed the Warrior Priest who had once been a Knight of the White Wolf. Even if the race of Men would bicker and fight among one another when no common foe was present, humanity had always always stood strong when given reason to unite. Just as when Sigmar unified the ancient tribes to form the Empire, when Magnus fought side by side with the Men of Kislev against the hordes of Asavar Kul, there was no enemy, whether they be greenskins, undead and even daemon that could withstand the unified strength of humanity.

With a purposeful stride that was mirrored by the Bretonnian, Albrecht led the way towards the center of the camp, near where the barbarian chieftain and his shaman had unsuccessfully attempted to communicate with him. If he had to guess, that was where the barbarians would make their stand or at the least, it would be where they would gather in the event of an attack. The sound of snow crunching underneath heavy booted feet was heard by the Warrior Priest who instinctively knew that it could not have been from the fur clad barbarians and he immediately went into a defensive stance.

A loud, bestial roar was heard to the right, followed by more footsteps and the Warrior Priest's instincts were proven correct. More monsters, some the short orc-looking ones, others the taller ones and even the lanky shrieking ones charged towards the two warriors like a blood-crazed band of greenskins. The Bretonnian shouted something towards them in the southern tongue, some insult or expletive he guessed but his understanding of the language was very minimal to say the least.

Letting the things come towards them, Albrecht waited counting their numbers and working with a basic plan on how he will fight these things. The first monster, a squat orc-like thing with two daggers, rushed ahead towards him with blades held in a reverse grip. Snarling in contempt at the monster, Albrecht quickly swung his hammer at it with both hands on the haft of his weapon and he smacked it to the side with a loud, neck snapping impact.

Next came one of the shrieking ghoul-things that leapt towards him but was immediately stopped in mid-flight as the enchanted mace of the Bretonnian came crashing down upon its skull and knocking it flat into the snowy ground. The other monsters fearlessly charged towards the two warriors, each one baying for human blood and each were answered with a powerful bone crushing force that left bodies with shattered ribs and fatal hemorrhaging.

Rage gave strength to the old Warrior Priest who felt Ulric's fury within his heart. With one last, wolf-like howl, Albrecht launched himself into the fray with frozen hammer leading the way.

* * *

Running as quickly as her feet would carry her, Alfhild looked back and gasped to see that her father was not behind her, rather he was directly facing the giant that had been coming after them. She wanted to shout and call to him but did not have enough time for the horned creature thrust his head forwards like a bull. Alfhild's eyes widened in horror as her father jumped and he slid between the legs of the giant before slashing the inner part of its left thigh with his axe.

The giant turned roared in both pain and rage before slamming its left fist down behind it and sending up a shower of snow. 'Da!' shouted Alfhild who did not see if her father had been struck and she quickly drew another arrow from her quiver and she placed it to the string of her bow. Anger and fear gave her a strange sort of clarity as she aimed for thing's neck and she let fly with a single shot that found its mark.

Feral joy filled the young huntress as her shot found its way to the horned giant's throat, burying deeply into the center of the throat where a man's apple would be. Dark blood began to gurgle from its mouth as it fell to its knees and to her joy, she saw her father appear behind it with bloodied axe in hand. Her father quickly went to the side of the creature and he finished it off with a heavy chop to the back of the neck which was followed by another one and another.

Relieved to see that her father was still alive, she heard a loud shrieking from behind her. Instinctively turning around to face this threat, her hand immediately went for another arrow and she saw another of the thin limbed monsters bounding towards her. Knowing well enough that she would not have enough time to aim and shoot, she quickly rushed the thing with her arrow tightly held in her hand while shouting a wordless war cry that was more filled with terror and desperation.

Not bothering to think about it and just running up to the moving beast, she thrust her arrow up like a dagger with the head aimed at its face and she felt the impact as she managed to stab the thing from beneath its chin. In a brief moment, she realized that she had made a grave miscalculation as the creature collided into her with a painful impact that knocked the breath out of her lungs and both fell into a heap. Everything began to spin as Alfhild crashed into the ground and she felt the heavy weight of the fatally wounded monster kept her pinned down.

The world quickly reoriented itself as the moment of vertigo passed and Alfhild struggled to get the surprisingly heavy creature off of her before she heard the crunch of snow beneath several booted feet. Lifting up her head and trying to get a better view of what it was, her eyes widened in alarm when she saw a group of several Darkspawn running towards her and she began to redouble her efforts in pushing away the corpse and she knew that she did not have much time. Pushing with all of her might, she managed to lift it up a little before the pack of monsters were already upon her and she quickly closed her eyes for the inevitable.

After an agonizingly slow moment, of expecting a blade to come down upon her prone form, Alfhild's eyes opened and she was surprised to find that she was still alive. The Darkspawn had run passed her, their attentions focused on something behind them and she used the time to try to get herself out. She then heard the approach of other figures which were followed by the clatter of metal plates and she briefly saw to her relief, the wolf-pelted shaman and another stranger.

Spattered in dark blood that stained once pristine plates, the second stranger, a man who was also all armored up like a knight from the north, was accompanying the shaman. His helmet bore a pair of great elk antlers which adorned the sides of the head gear and he wore red garments which depicted a similar beast. A massive bloody mace was held in the hands of the stranger and it brightly glowed with a light the color of a clear day sky.

Calling to the knight and the shaman, asking for help, the antler helmeted man quickly came to her assistance. He effortlessly pushed away the corpse while using his left hand and Alfhild used to newfound space to roll away from where she had been fallen and she got back up to her feet. A foreign word was then spoken by the shaman whose masked gaze seemed fixed on the remaining horned giants and he reached for the horn that dangled from the side of his belt.

Just as in the bear cave, the wolf-pelted shaman set down his hammer and he slightly lifted up his skull mask enough to place the instrument to his lips and he gave a single, loud howl that sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing. A charge suddenly filled the air as whatever magic was placed upon it was used and the snow that fell from the sky soon turned into a raging blizzard. Having lived most of her life in these cold and harsh lands, Alfhild was disturbed by how unnatural the storm was for its chill did not bite into her, the way it should.

The two armored warriors then without a word, charged towards the remaining horned giants, their heavy bludgeoning weapons held in their hands as a winter storm engulfed fill the camp.

* * *

Delivering a well timed, dual-sweep of both of his blades, Arion decapitated a pair of Darkspawn as his companions continued their deadly dance. Corpses littered the ground around them as they fought and before long, they found themselves surrounded by only the dead and the dying. Taking a moment to survey the carnage which they had wrought, the Duelist was pleased to know that they had slain many of the foul beasts but in his heart, he knew that they had not even scratched the surface.

'Regroup!' called Arion and his companions formed up into a loose formation to allow each of them space to maneuver. Anna joined them with her own blades now drawn, her quiver had been emptied of all arrows yet like the rest of them, she was as deadly in close quarters.

'Are we heading to the camp?' asked Cortez who had pulled out another bottle of toxins which he carefully poured upon his bloody blade.

'Those people will need our help' added Anna with concern as Garth quietly handed her another vial filled with a poisonous agent.

While the sight of the besieged Chasind clan was more than enough to make the Duelist wish to intervene, he realized that there was a great opportunity to be gained here. In the past, the Grey Wardens had unified the various nations and races of Thedas to combat the threat of the previous Blights and it dawned upon him that if they could rescue this group of Wilders, they could use them to try to convince other clans or at least be directed to someone who could possibly unite the barbarians. Although he doubted that a single army of Chasind could actually stop the horde, they could at least be useful in buying time for their comrades in Ferelden, Orlais and the other nations.

Although their mission had been to gather information and to slow down the Darkspawn, he quickly became aware of what they could accomplish with an army at their backs. First things first he reminded himself as he still felt the presence of the two ogres which continued to rampage across the camp. They needed to make sure that these particulars Wilders survived the Darkspawn onslaught, a task which the Wardens were well suited for.

Giving a quite hand signal to the rest of his party, the Wardens quickly sprinted towards the camp which was now being battered by a blizzard which had the unnatural tinge of magic to it, their blades were ready for any attacking Darkspawn. They soon passed through the first of the burning, fur-hide tents, the smell of burning wood, animal skins and flesh both humans and monstrous filled the air. The number of dead Chasind greatly outweighed those of their attackers and it was without a doubt to Arion that had his party and the Knight not intervened then the clan would have been slaughtered like the others they had encountered.

Feeling the nearby presence Darkspawn which in turn, sensed them, the Wardens knew that the monsters were now coming for them. From between one of the tents, a pack of Shrieks bounded towards them like wolves on the hunt, their dark, glittering eyes and the fires which burned many of the tents giving them a more fiendish appearance. Unperturbed by the sight of the monsters, The Grey Warden went back to performing their sworn duty.

Blades flashed, bodies fell and blood further stained the snow as the Darkspawn had sent nothing which could seriously threaten the veteran party of well equipped Grey Wardens. As they fought, the whispering voices, that which directed the their monstrous foes began to become more frantic and each of them began to redouble their efforts. Forging an army would have to wait for a moment as there were now, far more pressing matters to be concerned with.

* * *

Seeing the two warriors with blood spattered armor run past him, Roanoke turned around and watched as they directly went after the horned giants. His heart still pounded heavy as his limbs trembled and he felt the rush of adrenaline within his veins. The gore from the horned giant which he and Alfhild had felled still clung to his arms, each smear felt as if hot coals had been placed upon his flesh.

The unnatural blizzard which had suddenly arrived after the peal of the wolf shaman's horn, began to increase in tempo. A chill which cut to the very bone began to fill the huntsman and yet, he drew some strange sort of strength from it. Of the horned giants, he saw that their movements began to slow as the blizzard seemed to be affecting them more than the clansmen and those who had still been battling the beasts were better able to avoid the deadly strikes of the monsters.

He watched as the two warriors engaged the giants in close combat, they moved with a degree speed and agility that should have been impossible under all of that armor and for a moment, he thought that he saw… something surrounded them. Of the wolf shaman, he caught a brief glimpse of white flames which burned around him like and the other of whom must surely be a knight from the north, was similarly surrounded by light and mists. The sight only lasted for a brief moment, a blink of an eye before both men appeared as any mortal should and they were upon giants.

The shaman's hammer pulverized the back of a horned giant's as its gaze was focused on an clansman it had picked up, causing it to collapse and allow the fellow Wilder to get clear. As soon as it was done, the other clansmen attacked like hungry wolves, their blades and bludgeons descended upon the now vulnerable monster before the maul of Thane Ivar who had still survived, ended the life of the beast. The last giant on the other hand had noticed the approach of the knight and it let loose a challenging roar before stomping towards him.

The knight did not falter in his steps towards the beast which thrust its right fist towards the man in a powerful punch. In response, the armored warrior swung his weapon down in an overhead strike which caught it directly behind the knuckles and slamming its fingers down into the snow. The giant loudly shouted in both pain and rage before the knight delivered a series of furious assaults which battered its chest.

Loud smacks of metal upon flesh followed by the snapping of bone were heard by those near the battling giant and the knight who continued to batter the beast while skillfully weaving around its attacks. It staggered back from the mighty blows inflicted by the glowing two handed mace as it tried to retaliate against the swift moving warrior and it left itself open for the fatal blow. With a single, powerful overhead swing, the knight's mace connected against its throat and crushing it.

Falling to its knees and desperately gasping for air, its suffering did not last long before the armored knight finished it off with a final strike to its forehead, delivered with such force that it buried deeply into its skull and its eyes bulged, almost as if they were going to pop out from the sockets. Thane Ivar then took up his horn and he blew it again, calling for what was left of the clan to rally around him.

Hearing soft steps from behind him, he glanced back to see his approaching daughter and Roanoke gave a relieved smile to her.

'Are you all right?' asked the huntsman to his daughter.

'I should be asking you that Da' replied Alfhild and the huntsman caught the sight of four approaching, hooded figures who each carried bloodied blades. Immediately wary upon seeing these strangers, Roanoke felt only slightly more reassured when he saw that they were clearly human.

'I don't have much time to explain' loudly called one of the cloaked individuals, a man who spoke the common language with a thick, northern accent. 'But we must leave, now!'

'Who are you? Why must we leave?' suspiciously asked Roanoke as he took a step forward and he protectively placed himself between these strangers and his daughter.

'We are Grey Wardens' quickly replied the speaker. 'And right now I need to find your Chieftain and tell him we need to leave!'

'Is it more of those monsters?' asked Alfhild with worry in her voice.

'Far worse' warily replied the hooded stranger and soon several more, bestial war cries were heard in the distance. It was then that Roanoke began to hear the deep but steady rhythm of drums, beating to the sound of war.


	6. Epilogue

Within an ancient chamber of elegant yet austere furnishing, two figures sat, surrounded by shelves containing tomes and scrolls of ancient knowledge. Between the two was a board, a game board to be precise, covered in the ancient runes that had once belonged to the ancients, the travelers from beyond. The board represented the great game that was being played, a game like many others which touched the strands of fate.

Once, in another time and another life, the two who now played the game had once been mighty lords, leaders who guided their people through wisdom and the clever application of the arcane arts. Now they were here, within this place, between realities, a place within the depths of the Aethyr, a place where only the gods and certain mortals of great power may tread. It was also a place for the dead that did not truly rest, a place for the living in their dreaming, a place where those who were not fully either could find a temporary respite.

Of the two figures, one was a tall, skeletally thin being dressed in ragged robes of white and crimson with a balding head, translucent flesh and eyes that were now as black as coals. In a past age, he had once been a regal, broad shouldered figure, a king whose wisdom had guided his people, whose words were respected by all, even by another, great lord whom he had once called a friend. Now, all that was left of this once great figure was his work, his duty to preserve the world that he and so many had sacrificed themselves for and one that so many more will.

The other figure was dressed in robes of black and bone, his features were also similar to that of the first, albeit, one who had not long ago passed from the mortal plane. Unlike the other, black robed individual who enjoyed playing the great game, this one did not wear the same spider-silk garments, the ivory mask or the black sword amulet which the other so often wore. Red gems adorned the accouterments of this second figure; each one representing the pieces of who he was that still remained, safe from the clutches of the darkness.

Both were observers and players to the game where they themselves had once been pawns of but now were free to alter the course of as they saw fit, for good or ill. The pieces on the board moved on their own, guided by the wills of competing beings greater than they, entities whose spheres of influence encompassed much of what they had once been. Plots within plots, stratagems and plans which no mortal mind could comprehend were laid out before the two observers.

A game played between the Crone and the Raven, a game that caught the eyes of gods and other powerful mortals alike, a game that transcended reality itself. The game of Fate and of Change was being played, a game that would alter the destinies of all those who would be involved. It was a game they watched with deep interest for its end would lead to either annihilation or the hindering of that which was merely, the inevitable.

For a brief moment, their gazes fell upon the Wolf and the Hart, surrounded by an encroaching darkness their paths would soon cross with two others whose fates would be intertwined with their own along with so many others. Paths that would bring them to the next of the chosen, where one represented the deities of snow and the other of mists, the next two would represent those whose spheres encompassed that of life and death.

* * *

_Several weeks later…_

Another miserable sight was all that greeted Markor as he gazed upon yet another band of refugees. With arms crossed across his barreled chest, he watched from the window of his home, built upon great stilts over a marsh as more fellow Chasind from other clans arrived via the wooden bridges which the rest of the village was built upon. They were a sorry lot in his eyes, like all the others, all bringing tales from the south of a Darkspawn horde rampaging about and some even spoke of a mighty dragon which flew with the beasts.

With a sigh, he stepped away from the window and he went towards a nearby shelf where several herbal medicines rested. He gathered up as many as he could and he carefully placed them within a sack made from tanned animal hide for their clan's Thane had been explicit about helping out those in need. He then stepped out of his home with the container carried over his shoulder, his clansmen did likewise emerge from their huts, each holding different items which they could spare and even from inside his home, he knew that he would not be giving much.

Of the first thing Markor noticed of these refugees was the lack of children among their number for most of them were composed of scarred men and women, their faces carrying a haunted quality about it. Mentally counting and finding that there were perhaps twenty three of them in total, he quickly noted with some surprise that six of them had the look of foreigners. One was a fearsome, wolf-skulled warrior wearing a fur pelt cloak while another was clearly like one of the northern knights but had a set of great antlers rising from his helmets and the last ones were a group of cloaked leather armored men and a woman who all carried a pair of blades.

Leading the refugees was a big man wearing the helmet of a Thane with a heavy maul upon his back, a man and a young girl armed with bows stood close by, their eyes alert for any possible dangers. Thane Vorstag of Markor's clan was already there to greet the strangers and words were exchanged between the two clan leaders. He then noticed the fierce gaze of the skull masked warrior directly upon him and he heard a familiar, yet unnerving whisper from behind him and speaking in a foreign tongue.

Quickly turning around, he was slightly startled by the sudden appearance of the witch who had so recently made the acquaintance of their clan and had been instrumental in helping their clan in dealing with some recent troubles regarding altered animals with spines growing out of their backs. While the witch's presence was unnerving, especially because none of Markor's fellow clansmen knew if whether the woman The Witches of the Wild, her sorcery alone was more than enough to set many of them ill at ease. Not far from the witch was another woman who was also quite clearly from one of the foreign lands of the north.

As different from each other as night and day, Markor heard the different foreign speeches spoken between the two men and the two armored warriors which travelled with the small band of refugees. Little would he know of the meeting that took placed between the Paladin, Lothaire Du Gisoreux and Warrior Priest Albrecht Krieger, respectively of the lands of Bretonnia and The Empire, far away homelands which the women, Annette de Courone, of the Shallyan Sisterhood and Rosalind Amsel of the Amethyst Order had also hailed from. Little would he know of the fates that would bind these strange, otherworldly individuals with that of his own along with the countless others who had felt or would soon know the ruin which followed the Darkspawn horde that marched ever onwards to the north, to Ferelden and the rest of Thedas.

**To be continued…**


End file.
